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EDUCATIONAL WORKS. 



Gillespie's Practical Treatise on Suryeying. Copiously illus- 
trated. 1 vol., 8vo. 

Higher Surveying. 1 vol., 8vo. 

Graham's English Synonymcs. Edited by Prof. Keed, of 

Pennsylvania University. 12mo. 
Greene's History of the lliddle Ages. 12mo. 
Henslaw's Botanical Charts, adapted for Use in the United 
States. By Eliza A. Youmans. Six in set, handsomely 
colored. 
History Primers. Edited bv J. R. Green, M. A. : 
Greece. By C. A. Fyffe, M. A. 
Kome. By M. Creighton, M. A. 
Europe. By E. A. Freeman, D. C. I., LL. D. 
Old Greek Life. By A. J. Mahaffy. 32mo, cloth. 
England. By J. R. Green, M. A. 
France. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 
Home Pictures of English Poets. 
How's Shakespearean Header. 

Huxley and I'oumans's Elements of Physiology and Hy- 
giene. ' r ^ 
Keightley's Mythology of Greece and Rome. 
Erusi's Inventive and Free-Hand Drawing. 

Synthetic Series. Four Books and Manual. 

Analytic Series. Six Books and Manual. 

Perspective Series. Four Books and Manual. 

Advanced Perspettive and Shading Series. Four 

Books and Manual. 

Textile Desiins. By Prof. Chas. Kastner, Massachu- 
setts Institute of Technology. Six Books. 

Outline and Relief Designs. By Prof. E. C. Cleaves, 






Cornell University. 
Mechnnicfil Drawing. 



Bv Prof. F. B. Morse, Massa- 



chusetts Institute of Technology. 

— Architectural Drawing. By Prof. Chas. Babcock, 
Cornell University. Nine Books. 

— Machinery. By Prof. J. E. Sweet, Cornell University. 
(In preparation.) 

— Civil Engineerag. (In preparation.) 

— Ceramic Art. (In preparation.) 
Interior Decorations. (In preparation.) 



Latham's Hand-Book of the English Language. 
Liddell and Scott's Greek-English Lexicon. Abridged. 



V 




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<::> 
^ 




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-- 


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THE 



SHAKSPEARIM READER: 

.A COLLECTION OF 

THE MOST APPROVED PLAYS 

OF 

SHAKSPEARE; 

n 

CAKEFULLY REUSED, WITH 

» 

INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY NOTES, 

AND 

A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 



PSEPAREn EXPRESSLY FOR THE USE OF CLASSES. AXD THE 
FAMILY READING CIRCLE. 



BY 

JOHN W. S. I.IOWS, 

fROFE?g?)R OF ELOPTJTION IN COLUMBIA COLI.EQE. 



Thk Ma\, whom Nature's self had made 

To mock liarself, and Trith to imitute. 



NEW YOEK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 

1881. 



^CU^A Wv^t^t' 






Enteeed, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1849, l>y 
D. APPLETON & CO., 

In the Clerk's Offlce of the District Court of the United Strxtes for the Southern 
District of New York. 



In exch. 
i). of 0. Pub. LiV. 






^. fC^^^..^^^ 



/^V ^ Fe-^ 



/to/ 
THE HO.N. OGDEN HOFFMAN, 

^IflS ATTEMPT TO RENBEll' 

"""SHAKSPEARE 

AN UNEXCEPTIONABLE^ ^LAJS BOOK, 
AND AN ACCEPTABLE F AJ\I I L_Y" R_E_A U li Rj 

5 'fKSTIBTONIAL OF GRATEFUL ESTEEftI, 

" \ rOHN W. a HOY78. 



PREFACE. 

At a period \\hen the fame of Shakspeare is "striding tiie woild 
likj a colossus," and editions of his works are multiplied with a pto- 
fusion that testifies the desire awakened in all classes of society ta 
read and study his imperishable compositions, — there needs, perhaps, 
but httle apology for the following selections of his works, prepared 
expressly to render them unexceptionable for the use of Schools, 
and acceptable for Family reading. Apart from tlie fart, that 
Shakspeare is the " well-spring " from which may be traced the ori- 
gin of the purest poetry in our language, — a long course of profes- 
sional experience has satisfied me that a necessity exists for the 
addition of a work like the present, to our stock of Educational 
Literature. His writings are peculiarly adapted for the purposes of 
elocutionary exercise, when the system of instruction pursued by the 
Teacher is based upon the true principle of the art, viz. — careful 
analysis of the structure and meaning of language, rather than a 
servile adherence to the arbitrary and mechanical rules of Elocution. 

To impress upon the mind of the pupil that words are the expo- 
sition of thought, and that in reading, or speaking, every shade of 
thought and feeling has its appropriate shade of modulated tone, 
ought to be the especial aim Qf every Teacher; and an author 
like Shakspeare, whose every line embodies a volume of meaning, 
should surely form one of our Elocutionary Text Books. I have 
invariably found that the attention of youthful punils is more readily 



Vlll PRE! ACE. 

awakened by the force and beauty of his lang nage, than by that oi 
all other writers. Interest is uniformly excited in the student by 
the infinite variety of character that our great poet introduces into 
his creations, whilst the perceptive faculties of th^ reader become 
quickened and roused into action by the wonderful pcwcr he ex- 
hibits in " making his persons act and speak by the influence of 
those general passions and principles by v/hich all minds are agi- 
tated." The study of Elocution, under impressions so favorable, 
becomes an exercise truly intellectual, and the objectionable, but still 
necessary mechanism of the art, is reduced to its proper subordinate 
and auxiliary position. 

That his entire works could not be introduced intc? schools is 
evident ; nor do the " Selections," " Beauties," and occasional 
" Extracts," found in our Class Readers, precisely meet the wants of 
a pupil. These are at best the " briclis," — unsatisfactory speci- 
mens of the imperishable structure that the genius of our poet has 
reared, for the admiration of every age and every clime. 

" The real power of Shakspeare is not shown only by particular 
passages, but much also by the progress of his fables and the tenor 
of his dialogue." Unconnected extracts will always fail to interest 
and impress the young to the same extent as a coherent story and 
in animated scene. 

Acting upon these convictions, I have endeavored to extract the 
essence, as it were, of sixteen of Shakspeare's most approved Dra- 
mas — preserving in each the main story entire, by the aid of brief 
explanatory notes connecting the selections. The strictly poetical 
passages have been generally retained in preference to the comic 
portions, my limits compelling me to a choice between the two. 
Conceding the necessity of this almost imperative choice, I believe 
ti^.at the selections are those, to which the lovers of Shakspeare 
most frequently and most satisfactorily recur. 

Of the liberties I have been compelled to take with ray autJioi; 



PREFACE. l:i 

[ scarcely know how to speak with becoming propriet/. I profess 
tO share the common veneration entertained for the pure unmutilated 
text of Shakspeare ; and can estimate at what it is worth that ultra 
fastidiousness, which denounces the great " Poet of Nature " for 
having made his characters speak agreeably to the spirit of his own 
age. Still, in preparing a selection of his works for the express pur- 
pose contemplated in my design, I have not hesitated to exercise a 
severe revision of his language, beyond that adopted in any similar 
undertaking — '• Bowdler's Family Shakspeare " not even excepted ; — 
md simply, because I practically know the impossibility of intro- 
ducing Shakspeare as a Class Book, or as a satisfactory Reading 
Book for Families, without this precautionary revision. 

To render the selections better adapted for expressive reading, 
I have also ventured to disencumber several passages of unneces- 
sary circumlocution, consulting standard authorities to aid me in this 
portion of my labors. 

I may be held amenable at the bar of criticism, for what may be 
deemed by many a profanation of Shakspeare. 

In extenuation of my temerity, I may be permitted to say, that 
although the undertaking of such a work as the present, has been 
urged upon me by convictions, practically enforced, of its necessity, 
I b^ve long been restrained from making the attempt from con^ 
Bcientious scruples as to its propriety. But to — 

" Do a oTeaf riglit," 

[ have dore 

" A little wrong* 

ShaKspeare, in the original, is effectually excluded from out 
Schools ; and modern refinement is fast banishing him from the 
Home Reading Circle. To bring his profound moral and intellec- 
tual teachings to bear upon tlie early mental training of the young, 
and to extend his genial influences around the "Homestic Ileartli 



X PREFACE. 

seemed lo me justifiable attempts ; expedient to be made at all 
hazards. 

I have therefore prepared these selections with such a carefully 
expurgated Text, that the Book mav be introduced into our Schools 
with perfect confidence, by the most fastidious Teacher ; and with 
equal propriety it can be used for reading aloud in the most refined 
and pure-minded Family, or Social Circle. 

In justice to myself, I may be permitted to add, that 1 nave 
evoided, as far as it was practicable with the nature of my design, 
the substitution of any language of my own for the pure text of 
Shakspeare. I have been compelled occasionally t'" resort to the 
use of synonymes, but these have been adopted but sparingly. 
When difficulties beset me in the original, I have preferred, in most 
cases, excision to alteration. I may possibly have 

" Cut beyond the wound, 

To make the cure co7nplete ;" 

but there is high medical authority for believing that this is the 
most successful treatment in desperate cases. 

With this explanatory, and I may add, deprecatory piefaro, I 
submit the result of my humble, but very toilsome labors, to tl« 
test of pubHc opinion. 

New YosK, Fcbruarif ^ JS49 



CONTENTS 



IIajolet, Prince of Denmare 1 

Much Ado About Noxnrwo, KJ 

Macbeth, . . t . 79 

As You Like It, Ill 

Othello, ..... 145 

The Tempest .172 

Romeo and Juliet, 201 

The Merchant of Vkmzcu, 235 

Kma Lear, 262 

Midsummer-Night's Drkam, 299 

Julius C^sar, .318 

Twelfth-Night ; Or, What You Will, .... 355 

Measure for Measure, . . . . . . . .372 

King John, .... ^ . . , . 385 

King Henry IV, . ....,,, 4H 

King Henry VIII, . ... .1518 



LIFE 

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 



The few incidents in Shakspeare's life are surrounded with 
douU and fable ;' indeed, until lately, little could be said of hia 
Biography, but that " he was born, lived, and died." The researches 
of Malone, and more recently those of Collier, Knight, and Halliwell, 
have however thrown some light on the Poet's history, and from 
these authorities we are enabled to compile a brief memoir of his life 
sufficient for our present design, referring the youthful student to the 
more elaborate sources to which we are indebted. 

William Shakspeare was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the 
county of Warwick, England, in April, 1564. He was baptized on 
the 26th of the month, and a tradition exists that he was born on 
the 23d April, the anniversary of St. George the tutelar Saint of Eng- 
land. His father, John Shakspeare, v/as a wool-comber, or glover, who 
had risen above hi.i somewhat obscure position by marrying a rural 
heiress, Mary Arden, possessed of a small estate in Warwickshire. 
Shakspeare's father rose to be high bailiff and chief alderman of Strat- 
ford ; but became depressed in circumstances about the year 1578. 

William was the eldest of six surviving children, and after re- 
ceiving some education in the grammar school of his native town, 
he is said to have been brought home to assist in his father's business. 
There is an entire blank in his history for several years of his early 
life, but it may well be conjectured, that he was then treasuring up 
materials for those imperishable works which have rendered him the 
most eminent genius the world has ever produced. Some of his 
Diographers have endeavored to prove that a portion of this period 
was passed in a lawyer's office, from the familiaritv he exhibits in his 



%IV LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKSrEARE. 

works, with technical legal phrase and illustrations. But similar 
evidence might be adduced to prove his preparation for the church, 
or for the medical professicn, for his works abound in the profoundest 
theological truths, and he appears to be equally well skilled in the 
elementary knowledge of medical science. 

The amount of Shakspeare's educational acquirements haa beer\ 
Uie subject of eager scrutiny and controversy. Ben Jonson, with 
whom he was on terms of intimate acquaintance, says, he had " little 
Latin and less Greek." This is admitting that he knew something 
of both languages. His choice of two classical subjects for his early 
poetry, Venus and Adonis^ and Lucrece, and the numerous allusions 
in his Plays to the mythology of the ancients, appear to warrant the 
conclusion that he was, at least, deeply imbued with the spirit and 
taste of classical literature. But, genius such as Shakspeare's did 
not derive its inspiration from mere classical learning. He was 
doubtless an irregular student, yet his native intellect and com- 
prehensive mind enabled him, by study and observation, and " al- 
most by intuition, to treasure up stores of knowledge by which he 
subsequently distanced all the university-bied wits and authors of his 
times." 

On the 28th of November, 1582, Shakspeare was married to Anne 
Hathaway, the daughter of a " substantial yeoman " of the village oi 
Shottery, about a mile from Stratford, and in the year 1586, it is 
ascertained that he removed to London, and commenced the occupa- 
tion of a Player. 

Much conjectural speculation has been expended upon the pro- 
bable causes, which induced Shakspeare to adopt the profession of an 
actor, but no authentic accounts can be traced to ascertain the pre- 
cise facts. During the period of his father's elevation to office, 
companies of players were frequently in the habit of performing at 
Stratford ; among these players were several who were Shakspeare's 
townsmen. An acquaintance with these persons may naturally have 
been formed by the future Dramatist, and when circumstances in- 
duced him to quit Stratford, the intimacy with his old associates may 
bave been resumed and his connection with the stage decided upon. 

Shakspeare soon rose to distinction in the theatre, for in the year 
1689 he became a shareholder in the Blackfriars Theatre. In 1596 
De was a proprietor, and in 1603 he was named second in a new patcni 



LIFE OV WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. XV 

granted to the King's Players, by Tames I., on that monarcli's accea* 
Bion to the Britisli throne. 

That the extraordinary powers of Shakspeare as a Dramatic 
writer, was the cause of his rapid elevation in the theatre, is a fact 
almost beyond dispute, for his talents as an actor never appear to 
have risen beyond a respectable mediocrity. A contemporary author- 
ity (supposed to be Lord Southampton) says that he was " of good 
Recount in the company ;" and traditionary evidence assigns him tha 
character of tlie " Ghost in Hamlet," and " Adam in As you like 
It,"' as being among the chief parts he sustained in his own plays. 

With the nobles, the wits, and poets of his day, he lived in fami- 
liar intercourse. Even royalty unbended to do honor to the immortal 
Dramatist ; his Plays were the favorite recreation of the haughty 
Elizabeth, and even the weak-minded James I. was not insensible 
to the genius of the great Poet. Ben Jonson, in a eulogy on Shaks • 
peare, speaks of his Dramas, " That so did take Eliza and our 
James ;" and other contemporary authorities confirm the fact of his 
popularity. 

It is likely that Shakspeare began his career as a Dramatic 
Author by altering and adapting Plays for the Stage, furnished by 
other Dramatists, and subsequently, as he felt his powers expand, he 
poured forth in rapid succession that series of splendid Dramas, which 
are the imperishable monuments of his genius. No distinct chrono- 
logical account can be given of these wonderful productions. It is 
however tolerably well established, that the whole of the thirty-seven 
Plays were produced before the year 1612, as it is supposed in that 
year he retired finally to his native town, where he had previously 
purchased an estate, called New Place, the principal house in Strat- 
ford. He had by this time acquired a handsome competency ; and, in 
the words of his biographer Rowe, " The latter part of his life was 
spent, as all men of good sense will wish theirs to be, in ease, retire- 
ment, and the conversation of his friends." 

Four years were passed by Shakspeare in this dignified retirement. 
He died on the 23d April, 1616, having just completed his fifty- 
second year. His widow survived him seven years. His two 
daughters were both married at the time of his death, (his only son, 
Ilanmet, had died in 1596,) but all these died without issue, and there 
now reinains no lineal repret-entative of the Poet. He was interred 



XVl LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 

in the Church of Stratford-upon-Avon, where a monument to his 
memory still exists in good preservation, and a flat grave-stone in 
front of the monument indicates the Poet's grave. On the stone is 
inscribed these lines, which tradition ascribes to be his own composi- 
tion. 

" Good frend, for lesvs sake forbeare 
To digg the dvst encloased heare : 
Blese be ye man yt spares thes stones, 
And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." 

We close this brief and unsatisfactory memoir of the life of 
Shakspeare, by the following comprehensive summary of his charac- 
ter, by Hallam the Historian. 

" The name of Shakspeare is the greatest in our literature. No 
man ever came near to him in the creative powers of his mind ; no 
man had ever such strengtli at once, and such variety of ij7iagliM^ 



HA3ILET, 

PRINCE OP DENMARK 



Shakspeare is supposed to have taken the Plot of this Play, ficm " the Hibtory of 
Hamlet," as it is found narrated in Saxo Grammaticus, the Danish [listoiian. An English 
translation of this particular story was published during the Poet's life, entitled " Historie 
of Hamblet, Prince of Denmark," and from this version, it is conjectured that Shak- 
■peare drew the materials, which have assisted him in this master-piece of tragic com- 
position. As this Play is the most finished and the most popular of our Author'a 
productions, we have incorporated into our selections nearly all the prominent scenes. 

We cannot better introduce the youthfu/ student into a just discrimination of the 
leading characteristics of Hamlet, than by furnkhing the following clear analysis from the 
pen of Goethe. He says — 

" It is clear to me that Shakspeare's intention was to exhibit tho effects of a great 
action imposed as a duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment. 

" In this sense, I find the character consistent throughout. There is an oak planted in 
a china vase, proper only to receive the most delicate flowers ; the roots strike out, and 
the vessel flies to pieces. A pure, noble, highly moral disposition, but without that 
energy of soul which constitutes the hero, sinks under a load which it can neither support 
nor resolve to abandon altogether. Ml his obligations are sacred to him ; but this alone 
is above his powers. 

" An impossibility is required at his hands ; not an impossibility in itself, but that which 
b so to him. Observe how he shifts, turns, hesitates, advances, and recedes ; how he a 
continually reminded and reminding himself of his great commission, which he, neverthe- 
feiiS, in the end, seems almost entirely to lose sight of; and this without ever recoverinji 
4is former tranquillity." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

CLAUDitrs, Kivg of Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the former y and nephew to the present Ring. 

PoLONics, Lord Chamberlain. 

Horatio, friend to Hamlet. 

Laertes, son to Polonius. 



SHAKSPEARIAN READEa. 

VOLTIMAND, COKNELIUS, ) CourtieTM 

ROSENCRANTZ, GuiLDENSTERN. V 

OsRic, a Courtier. 
Another Courtier. 
A Priest. 

Marcellus, ) ^^^^^^^ 



Bernardo, 

Francisco, a soldier. 

Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

A Captain. 

An Ambassador. 

Ghost of Hamlets father. 

FoRTiNBRAS, Prince of Norway. 

Gertrude, Queen of Denmais, and mother of Ilamlel. 
Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. 

ItordSj Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave-diggers, Sailois, Mt? 
sengers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE.— Elsinore. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I.— Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle, 
Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo. 

Ber. Who's there ? 

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 

Yourself. 

Ber. Long live the king ! 

Fran. Bernardo ? 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hof-T. 

Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, Francisco. 

Fran. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Ber. Well, good night. 
!f you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 

Enter Horatio and MARCELLrs. 

Fran. I think I hear them — Stand, ho ! Who is there ? 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : 

Who hath retiev'd you ? 



HAMLET. ;j 

Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 

Give you good n.ght. [Ex'u Fkancisoo. 

Mar. Holla, Bernardo ! 

Ber. Say. 

What, is Horatio there ? 

Hor. Apiece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good Marcellus. 

Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night ? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

3Tar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; 
i\ nd will not let belief take hold of him. 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
T'.ierefore I have entreated him, along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
That, :f again this apparition come, 
He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 

Hor. Tush ! tush ! 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awliite * 

And let us once again assail your ears. 
That are so fortified against our story, 
What we two nights have seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all. 
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, 
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself. 
The bell then beating one, — 

Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again ! 

Enter Ghost. 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. 

Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, Horatio. 

Hor. Most like : it harrows me with fear, and wonder. 

Bsr. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
[n which the majesty of buried Denmark' 
Did sometim.es march ? by heaven I charge thee, speak. 

Afar. It is offended. 

Ber. See ! it stalks away. 

Hor. Stay ; speak : speak,I charge thee, speak. [Evb Ghpai 

Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 

Ber. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and look pale : 
Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
What think you of it ? 

Hor. I miofht not this believe. 



1 SHAKSPEARIAN REAP-ER, 

Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king ? 

Hor. As thou ait to thyself : 
Such was the very armour rre had on, 
When he the ambitious Norw^ay combated ; 
So frown'd he ^^nce, when, in an angry parie, 
He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 

Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dezd hou?. 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work, I kr cw not j 
But, in the gross and scope of mhie opinion, 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Junius fell, 
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
As, stars with trains of fire shed dews of blood, 
Disaster's dimm'd the sun ; and the moist star, 
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
VVas sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
As harbingers preceding still the fates. 
And prologue to the omen coming on, — 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Unto our climates and countrymen. — 

Re-enter Ghost. 
But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
I'll cross it, thougli it blast me. — Stay, illusion? 
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
Speak to me : 

If there be any good tiling to be done, 
That may to thee do ease, and grace to me 
Speak to me : 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
O, speak ! 

Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy Ufe 
Extorted treasure from the depths of earth, 
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death : 
Speak of it : — stay, and speak. [Exit Ghost 

Mar. 'Tis gone ! 
We do it wrong, being so majestic al. 
To ojffer it the show of violence. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 



HAMLET. T 

/'he cock, that is the trumpet to the mom, 
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To liis confine : and of the truth hereiir 
This present object made probation. 

Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
This bird of dawning singelh all night long : 
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike. 
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to harm, 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
Break we our watch up ; and, by my advice. 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet : for, upon my life, 
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him : 
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 

Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
Where we shall find him most convenient. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in tlie same. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Lores, \ni 
Attendants. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death 
The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That v;e with wisest sorrow think on him. 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The imperial jointress of this warlike state, 
Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 

Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 

With this affair along : — For all, our thanks. 
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you ? 
You told us of some suit ? What is't, Laertes t 

Laertes. My dread lord, 
Vour leave and favor to return to France ; 



() SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

From whence tlioiigh willingly I came to Denmark, 

To show my duty in your coronation ; 

Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 

My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 

And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 

King. Have you your father's leave ? What says Poljnius 1 

Pol. He hath, ray lord, — 
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 
And thy best graces : spend it at thy will. — 

But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, ._=__—=- — " 

" Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. f A.sj<ie. 

King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you ] 

Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all that live, must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 

Queen. If it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee ? 

Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother. 
Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath. 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage. 
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. 
That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem. 
For they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within, which passeth show * 
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 

King. 'Tis sweet and cormnendable in your nature, Hainlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
That father lost, lost his ; and the "survivor bound. 
In filial obligation, for some terni 
To do obsequious sorrow : But to porsever 
In obstinate condolement, is a course 
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unm.anly grief: 
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ; 
A heart unfortified, or mind impatient : 
An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
For what, we know, must be ; and is as common 
As any of the most vulgar thing to sense, 
Why should we, in our pee\nsh opposition, « 

Take it to heart ? Fye I 'tis a fault to heaven. 



nAMLET. i 

We pray you, throw to earth 
This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
As of a father : for let the world take note, 
You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet ; 
I pray thee stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come ; 
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Ilamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, cf-c, PoLOKrus, and [jlkrtss 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
Or that the Everlasting nad not fix'd 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the usee of this world ! 
Fye on't ! O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature, 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
But two months dead ! — nay, not so much, not two ; 
So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
Must I remember ? And yet, within a month, — 
Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman ! — 
A little month ; or ere those shoes were old. 
With which she foUow'd my poor father's body, 
Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
Would have moum'd longer, — married with my uncle, 
My father's brother ; but no more like my father. 
Than I to Hercules : 
It is not, nor it cannot come to, good ; 
But l)reak, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 

Ham. • I am glad to see you well 

Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
Hor. The same, my lord, and your pocr servant ever. 
Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name with you. 



S SllAKSPEAKIAN READsa. 

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? — 
Marcellus ? 

Mar. My good lord. 

Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir,—" 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. 
But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
I tliink, it was to see my mother's w^edding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio .' — 
My father, — Metliinks, I see my father. 

Hor. Where, 

My lord ? 

Ha7n. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
[ shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesterri^lit. 

Ham. Saw! who? 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my fathe? 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear ; till I may deliver. 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For heaven's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead waist and middle of the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your fatner, 
Armed at point, exactly, cap-^-pe, 
Appears before them, and, with solemn march. 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd, 
B^ their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distil I'd 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
(n dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 



HAMLET. 

And I with them, the thh'd night kept the watch ; 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more Uke. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did : 

But answer made it none : yet once, .rethought, 
It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away. 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange. 

Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis true ; 
And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
To let'you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

All. We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm*d,say you ? 

All. Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. Frcra top to toe ? 

All. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not 

His face. 

Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ? 

Hor. A countenance more 

In sorrow than in anger. 

Ham. Pale, or red ? 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would, I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 

Ham. Very like. 

Very like : Stay'd it long ? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 

Ham. His beard was grizzl'd ? no ? 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
L sable silver'd. 

Ham. I will watch to-night ; 

Perchance, 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant, it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
f 11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 



10 SHAKSrEAIllAJS READEB. 

And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
I will requite ^/our loves : So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honor. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 

[Exeunt Koratio, Marcellus, and BEitNiRUO 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
I doubt some foul play : 'would, the night were come ! 
Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
Though all the earth overwhelms them, to men's eyes. 

[ExH. 

SCENE III.— A Room in Polonius' House. 
Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farev/ell : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
Pray let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that ? 

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, 
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
Carve for himself: 

Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain, 
If with too credent ear you list his songs. 
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire ; 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
If she unm.ask her beauty to the moon. 

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother, 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
Whilst, like a puff 'd and reckless libertine, 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
And recks not liis own rede. 

Laer. O fear me not. 

I stay too long ; — But here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for shamd 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 



HAMLET. 11 

^id you are staid for : There, my blessing with you ! 

[Laying his hand on La estes' head 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, 
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgnieni 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
But not express'd m fancy : rich, not gaudy : 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
' Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend : 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all, — To thine ownself be true ; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 

Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 

Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants tend. 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia : and remember well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'Tis in my mem.ory lock'd. 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Laer. Farewell. 



SCENE IV.— The Plalform. 
Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 

Hor: It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. What hour now ? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; then it draws near the season. 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

\_A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot ojf, within^ 
Wliat does this mean, my lord ? 

Hayn. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse, 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
2 



12 SHAKSPEARIAN READES. 

The kettle-drum and crumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't : 
But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
More honor'd in the breach, than the observance. 

Enter Ghost. 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend lis -' 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hellj 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape. 
That I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : 
Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws. 
To cast thee up again ! What m.ay this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
So horribly to shake oar disposition. 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
Say why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it , 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It waves you to a more removed ground : 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the tear f 

1 do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
I3eing a thing immortal as itself? 
It v/aves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward tlie flood, my lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
And draw you into madness ? 



HAMLET. 13 

Ham. It waves me still — 

Go on, PL follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold oif your hands. 

Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out, 

And makes each petty artery in this body- 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's n.»rve. — [Ghost beckons. 
Still am I call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemei: : — 

[Breaking from iliem. 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
f say, away : — Go on, I'll follow thee. 

[Exeunt Ghost and Ham let 

SCENE V. — A more remote Part of the Platform. 
Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak, I'll go no further 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 

Ham. What? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 
And, for the day confin'd to fast in fires, 
Till the foul crim.es, done in my days of nature. 
Are burnt and purg'd away. JBut that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list I — 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 

Ham. O heaven ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder 

Ham. Murder? 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But tills most foul, strange, and unnatural. . 



[4 SHyXKSPEAr.IAN READER. 

Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as swifl 
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghofit. I find thee apt , 

A.nd duller should'st thou be than the fat Vv^eed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
VVould'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, tiaat 
'Tis given out, that sleeping m mine orchard. 
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of De)imarfe 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
T'he serpent that did sting thy father's hfe, 
Now wears his crovv^n. 

Ham. O, my prophetic soul ! my uncle 1 

Ghost. Ay, — 
With v/itchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts^ 
He won to his shameful love 
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
0, Hamlet, what a falling-ofF was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity, 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But, soft ! methinks, I scent the morning air ; 
Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
My custom always of the afternoon, 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a -vial. 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine 
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd . 
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head. 

Ham. O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horribio 

Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it n«^ 
But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act. 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
To goad and sting her. Fare thee well at orce 



HAMLET. IB 

The glow-worm showi the i. utin to be near, 

And 'gins to pale his ineffectual lire : 

Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. | Exit. 

Ham. Hold, hold, my heart : 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
But bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ? 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seal 
.n this distracted globe. Remember thee ? 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past 
That youth and observation copied there ; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven. 
I have sworn't. 

Hor. [ Within.] My lord, my lord, 

Mar. [ Within.] Lord Hamlet, 

Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him ! 

Ham. k o he t 

Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 

Harn. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 

Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? 

Hor. What news, my lord ? 

Ham. O, wonderful ! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ham. Ma ; 

You will reveal it. 

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord. 

Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man once think it f - 
But you'll be secret, 

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Denmark, 
But he's an arrant knave. 

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave, 
To tell us this. 

Ham.. Why, right ; you are in the right : 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
[ hold it lit that we shake hands, and part : 
You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
For every man hath business, and desire, 
Such as it is, — and for my ou'n poor part, 
Look you, I will go pray. 

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lore 

Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
Fiith, heartily. 



t6 SHAKSrEAlilAx\ READER. 

j{or. There's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision here,— 
[t is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends. 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
Give me one poor request. 

Uor. What is't, my lord ? 

We will. 

Ham. Never make known what you have seen to-nigot. 

Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 

lla?n. ' Nay, but swear't, 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange ♦ 

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 

But come ; 

Here, as before, never, so lielp you mercy ! 

How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 

As I, perchance, hereafter, shall think meet 

To put an antic disposition on. — 

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 

With arms encumber'd thus, oi this head-shake. 

Or by pronouncing of some doiibiful phrase. 

As, Well, well, ive knew ; — or. We could, and ifv^^. v^<nJJ :-^m^ 

If we list to speak ; — or. There he, an if they mi^ln :— 

Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 

Tliat you know aught of me : — This do you swear. 

So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gentlemon, 
With all my love I do commend me to you : 
And what so poor a man as Ham.let is 
May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together : 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite ! 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 
Nay, come, let's go together. [Fieum 



HAMLET. 17 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

B^inlet lia lov. put ou his counterfeit madness. He visiu Ophelia In this " anlic 
fuise," and th« affiishted maiden narrates to her father the circumstances attending 
Ais visit. 

Ophelia. — Polonius. 

Poi. How now, OjDhelia ? what's the matter ? 

Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so affrighted ! 

Pol. With what, in the name of heaven. 

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbrac'd ; 
Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
He comes before me. 

Pol. Mad for thy love ? 

Oph. My lord, I do not know ; 

But, truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. " What said he ? 

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
And, wit.h his other hand thus o'er his brow. 
He falls to such perusal of my face, 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
At last, — A little shaking of mine arm, 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — 
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound. 
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, 
Ai)d end his being : That done, he lets me go : 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
Foi out o'doors he went without their helps. 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 

Pol. Come, go with me ; I will go seek the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love ; 
Wliat, have you given him any hard v/ords of late ? 

Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did command, 
I did repel his letters, and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 

Come, go we to the king : 

This must be known ; which, being kept close, night move 
More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. [ Exeiin: 

SCENE n.— A Rcom in the Castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Rosenc:5Antz, Guildenstern, aiid Attendantd 

King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern 1 
Moreover that we much did long to see you, 



18 SHAKSI'EAKIAN REAUKR. 

The need, wo have to use you. did provoke 

Our hasty send'ng. Something have you heard 

Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 

?ince not the exterior nor the inward man 

Resembles that it was : What it should be, 

More than his father's death, that thus hath put him 

So much from the understanding of himself, 

L cannot dream of: I entreat you both. 

That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 

Some little time : so by your companies 

To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gatner, 

Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 

That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you ; 
And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
So to expend your time with us a while, 
Your visitation shall receive such tlianks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 

Guil. But we both obey ; 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
To lay our service freely at your feet, 
To be commanded. 

King. Thanks, Rosencrantz. and gentle Guildenstcni. 

Queen. And I beseech you instantly to visit 
My too much changed son. — Go, some of you, 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

[Exeunt Rosence^intz, Guildenstern, and some \ttcr.(lan1« 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. I now do think, (or else this brain of min6 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As it hath us'd to do.) that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 

Pol. My Hege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is, 
Why day is day, night, night, and time is time, 
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit, 
And tediousness the \jmbs and outward fiourishes,- — 
[ will be brief : Your noble son is mad : 
Mad call 1 it : for, to define true madness, 
What is't, but to be nothing 3lse but mad : 
But let that g". 



IIANLET. 19 

Queen. More matter, witii less art. 

Pol. Madam, 1 swear, I use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 'tis true, 'tis pity ; 
And pity tis, 'tis true : a foolish figure ; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, 
That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
For this effect, defective, comes by cause ; 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I Lave a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. 
— To the celestial, and my souVs idol, the most heautijied Ophelia,-"-'' 
That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautified is a vile phrase ; 'f"«t 
you shall hear. — Thus : — 

In her e-xcellent ivliite bosom, these, &c. — 

Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ? 

Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be faithful.— ^Reads 

Doubt thou, the stars are fire ; 

Doubt, that the sun doth move ; 
Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
But never doubt, I love. 

O dear Ophelia, / am ill at these numbers ; I have not art t( 
rvckon my groans : but that I love thee best, O most best, believe »/. 
Adieu, 

Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 

this machine is to him, Hamlet 
This, in obedience, hath my daugliter shown me : 
\nd more above, hath his solicitings. 
As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

Receiv'd his love ? 

Pol. What do you think of me ? 

King. As of a man faithful and honorable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think, 
When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
(As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, 
Before my daughter told me,) what might you, 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ; 
Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb. 
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
What might you think ? no, 1 went round to work, 
And my young mistress thus did I bespeak ; 
Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ; 
This must not be : and then T precepts gave her, 



20 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, 

That she should lock herself from his resort, 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice, 
And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
Thence to a lightness : and, by this declension, 
[nto the madness wherein low he raves, 
\nd all we mourn for. 

King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain laiow tliaf.,; 
That I have positively said, ' Tis so, 
When it prov'd otherwise ? 

King. Not that T know. 

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 

[Poiniing to his head mid shoul'kr, 
H circumitances lead me, I will find 
Wnere truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks for hours together, 
Fijre in the lobby. 

Queen. So he does, indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to hira : 
B ^ you and I behind an arras then ; 
Murk the encounter ; if he love her not, 
An. I be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm, and carters. 

Ki7ig. We will try it. 

E7iier Hamlet, reading. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away ; 
I'll board him presently : — O, give me leave. — 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 
How does my good lord Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent well. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 

Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol, Honest, my lord ? 

Plam. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this vtrorld goes, is to be one mar, 
picked out of ten thousand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a g-xl, 
kissing carrion, Have you a daughter ? 



HAMLET. 21 

Pol. [Aside.'] Still harping on my da aghter . — yet lie knew me 
not at first ; he said I was a fishmonger : He is far gone, far gone : 
and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love : very 
near this. I'll speak to him again. — What do you read, my lord ? 

Ham. Words, words, words ! 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord ? 

Ham. Between who ? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says here, that o!d 
men have gray beards ; that their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes 
purging thick amber, and plum-tree gum ; and thai they have a 
plentiful lack of wit, together with m.ost weak hams : All of which, 
Bir, though 1 most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not 
honesty lo have it thus set down ; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as 
I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward. 

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in it. ^^Aside.l 
Will you walk out of the air, my lord ? 

Ham. Into my grave ? 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — How pregnant sometimes his 
replies are ! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason 
and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave 
him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and 
my daughter. — My honorable lord, I will most humbly take my 
leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that T will more 
willingly part withal ; except my life, except my life, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 

Ros. Heaven save you, sir ! [ To Polonfus. 

l^Exil POLONIUS. 

Guil. My honor'd lord ! — 

Havi. My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, Guildenstern ? 
Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good lads, how do ye both ? What news ? 

Ros. None, my lord ; but that the world's grown honest. 

Ham. Then is doomsday near : But your news is not true. But 
in the beaten way of friendship^ what make you at Elsinore ? 

Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks ; but I thank 
you. Were you not sent for ? Is it your owti inclining ? Is it a 
free visitation ? Come, come ; deal justly with me : come, come ; 
nay, speak. 

Guil. Wliat should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. You were sent for ; and 
jiere is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties 
flave not craft enough to color : I know, the good king and queen 
nave sent for you. 



22 SHAKSPEAR'AN READER. 

Ros. To what end, my lord ? 

Ilam. Tiuit you must teach me. But let me conjure yon, by the 
rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by tho 
obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a letter 
proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, 
whether you were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. Wliat say you ? [To Guildenstern 

Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of vou ; [Asirle.] — if you love me, 
hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we w^ere sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipation prevent your 
discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no featiier. 
I have of late, (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth, for- 
gone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my 
disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril 
promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave 
o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, 
why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent con- 
gregation of vapors. What a piece of work is a man ! How noble 
in reason ! how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, how 
express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehen- 
sion, how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of 
animals ! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? man 
delights not me, nor woman neither ; though, by your smiling, you 
seem to say so. 

Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thoughts. 

Ha?n. Why did you laugh then, when I said, Man deligliis not 
rne? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten 
entertainment the players shall receive for you : we met them on 
the way ; and hither are they coming, to offer you service. 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be w^elcome ; his majesty shall 
have tribute of me : the adventurous knight shall use his foil and 
target : the lover shall not sigh gratis ; the humorous man shall end 
liis part in peace : the clown shall make those laugh, w^hose lungs 
are tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the 
blank verse shall halt for 't. — What players are they ? 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tra- 
gedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it, they travel ? their residence, both in repu* 
ation and profit, was better both ways, 

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means of the late 
innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation tliey did when I was in 
the city ? Are they so folio v/ed ? 

Ros. No, Indeed, they are not. 

Ham. It is not very strange : for my uncle is king of Denmark ; 
and those, tliat would make mouths at him while my father lived, 
^ive twenty, forty, fifty an hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture in 



HAMLET. 23 

Sttle. There is something in this more than natural, if pnilosophy 
could find it out. [Flourish of trumpets within. 

Guil. There are the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands. You 
are welcome : but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are deceived. 

Guil. In what, my de^.r lord ? 

Ham. I am but mad north-northwest : when the wind is southerly 
I know a hawk from a handsaw. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. Weil be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, — and you too ; — at each ear a hearer ; 
that great baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swaddling clothes. 

Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them ; for, they say, 
an old man is twice a child. 

Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the players ; mark 
\. — You say right, sir : o' Monday morning ; 'twas then, indeed. 

Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an 
actor in Rome, 

Pol. The actors are come liither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ! 

Pol. Upon my honor, 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, 
history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-histori- 
cal, tragical-comical, historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem 
unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too hght. For 
the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a treasure liadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 

Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more, 
The ivhich he loved passing icell. 

Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside, 

Ham. Am not I i' the right, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter, that I 
love passing well. 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows then, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you know, Jl came fa 
■pass, As inost like it was, — The first row of the pious chanson will 
show you more ; for look, my abridgment comes. 

The P ajers enter, and at Hamlet's request, the first player recites a speroh. 

Ham. Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.— 
Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? Do you 
hear, let them be well used ; for they are the abstract, ard brief 
chronicles, of the time : After your death you were better Have a 
Dad epitaph, than their ill re )ort while you ITVe. 

Pol. My lord, I will use hem according to their desert. 



Ii4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Hamn. Much better: Use every man after his desert, and tvho 
shall 'scape whipping ! Use them after your own honor and dig- 
nity : The less they deserve the more m.erit is in your bounty. Take 
them in. 

Pot Come, sirs. 

[Exit PoLONius with some of the Players. 

Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to-morrow. — Dosl 
thou hear me, old friend ; can you play the murder of Gonzago ? 

\st Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, 
Btudy a speech of some dozen or sixteen hues, which I would set 
down, and insert in't ? could you not ? 

\st Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well, — follow that lord ; and look you mock him not. 
[Exit Player.] My good friends, [To Ros. a;ic^ Guil.] I'll leave 
you till night : you are welcome to Elsinore. 

Ros. Good miy lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and GuiLDENsxEsa 

Ham. Ay, so, heaven be wi' you : — Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
fs it not monstrous, that this player here, 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
Tliat from her working all his visage wann'd ; 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing ! 
For Hecuba ! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? What would he do, 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion. 
That I have ? Pie would drown the stage with tears. 
And cleave the general ear, with horrid speech ; 
Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
Confound the ignorant ; and am.aze, indeed, 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king. 
Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
Tweaks me by the nose ? gives me the he i' the throat. 
As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? 
Ha! 

Why, I should take it : for it cannot be, 
But I am pigeon-livered and lack gall. 



HAMLET. £5 

To make oppression bitter ; or, ere thi?, 

I should have fatted all the region kites 

With this slave's offal : 

Why, what an ass am I ? This is most bravo ; 

Fye upon't ! foh ! About my brains ! Humph ! 1 nave heard. 

That guilty creatures sitting at a play, 

Have by the very cunning of the scene 

Been struck so to the soul, that presently 

They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 

For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 

With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players 

Play something like the murder of my father, 

Before mine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; 

Va tent him to the quick ; if he do blench, 

I know my course. The spirit that I have seeiij 

May be a devil : and the devil hath power 

To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps, 

Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 

(As he is very potent witli such spirits,) 

Abuses me to damn me : I'll have grounds 

More relative than this : the play's the thing, 

Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the kinjr, lExtt 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— A Room in the Castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencramtz,. ena 

GuiLDENSTERN. 

King. And can you, by no drift of conference 
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
With tui'bulent and dangerous lunacy ? 

Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
But, with a crafty madness keeps aloof, 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well 1 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 

Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 

Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands, 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay liim 

To any pastime ? 



'iG SHAKSFEARIAN READER. 

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
V\'e o'er-raught on the way : of these we told him ; 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it : They are about the court. • 
x\nd, as I think, tney have already order 
This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'Tis most true : 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 
To hear and see the matter. 

King. With all my heart; and it doth much content n.e 
To hear him so inclin'd. 
Good gentlemen, give hin. a further edge. 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 

Ros. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and GirtLDENSTSiiBi 

King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
Affront Ophelia : 

Her father, and myself (lawful espials,) 
Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
We may of their encounter frankly judge : 
And gather by him, as he is behav'd, 
If 't be the affliction of his love or no, 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you : 

And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, ' 
That your good beauties be the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wildness ; so shall I hope your virtues 
Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
To both your honors. 

Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queem 

Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so please you, 
We will bestow ourselves : — Read on this book ; [ To Ophell*. 

That show of such an exercise may color 
Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
'Tis too much prov'd, that, with devotion's visage, 
And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. 

King. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 

A lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 

Pol. I hear him coming ; let's withdraw, my lord. 

[Exeunt King and I'j- :»nri;a 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question : — 
VVhether tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 



HAMLET. 27 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them ? — To die, — to sleep,— 

No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to sleep ; — 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 

Must give us pause : there's the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely 

The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay. 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes, ■ 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? who Vv^ould fardels bear 

To groan and sweat under a weary hfe ; 

But that the dread of something after death, — 

The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 

No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have 

Than fly to others that we know not of ? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment. 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now ! 

The fair Ophelia ; — Nymph, in thy orisons 

Be all my sins remember'd. 

Oph. Good my lord, 

How does your honor for this many a day ? 

Ham. I humbly thank you ; well. 

Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours 
That I have longed lonar to re-deliver : 
I pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. No, not 1 ; 

I never gave you aught. 

Oph. My honor'd lord, you know right well, you did , 
And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
As made the things more rich : their perfume lost, 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind. 
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
There, my lord. 

Tlarolet falls into a wild extravagance of speech, and ttien eyto 



28 SKAKSPEARlAxN READER. 

Oph. O, \vh£t a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
The courtier's, soldiers, scholar's, eye, tongue, svvord 
T'^e expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
Tlie glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
T'le observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down .' 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason. 
Liiie sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth 
Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me ! 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I see 

Re-enter King and Polomus. 

King. Love I his affections do not that way tend ; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a httle, 
Was not like madness. There's something in his so'?iU 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood : 
And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose. 
Will be some danger : Which for to prevent, 
I have, in quick determination. 
Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England 
For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
Haply, the seas, and counlries different, 
With variable objects, shall expel 
This something-settled matter hi his heart ; 
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on't ? 

Pol. It shall do well ; but yet I do believe, 
The origin and commencement of liis grief 
Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia ? 
You need not tell us w^hat lord Hamlet said ; 
We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
To show his grief ; let her be round with him ; 
And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference : If she find him not,, 
To England send him : or confine him, where 
Your wisdom best shall tliink. 

King. It shall be so : 

Madne.^is in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 



Exeum 



SCENE ll.—A Hall in the same. 

Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 

Hum. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, 
tr^l'pLngly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our play- 



HAMLET. 29 

ers do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw 
file air too much with your hand, thus ; but use ad gently : for in 
the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your 
passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it 
smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious peri* 
wig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the 
ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part are capable of no- 
thing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise : I would have such a 
feliovv^ whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it cut-herods He.oa : pra'ii 
you, avoid it. 

1 St Play. T warrant, your honor. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be 
your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature • 
for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, 
both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror 
up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, 
and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now 
this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, 
cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, 
must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, 
there be players, tftat I have seen play, — and heard others praise, 
and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the 
accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan, nor man, have 
so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's 
journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated 
humanity so abominably. 

Ist Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferently with us. 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that play your 
clowns, speak no more than is set down for them ; for there be of 
them, that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren 
spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some necessary 
question of the play be then to be considered : that's vill«Jious ; and 
shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make 
fon ready [ExeunJ. Plavers. 

Ham.. What, ho ; Horatio ! 

E?iier Horatio. 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 

For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
That no revenue hast, but thy gooa spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be fiattei'd 1 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomip , 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
VVherc thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear 7 



so SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 

And couJd of men distinguish her election, 

She hath seal'd thee for herself : for thou hast been 

As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 

A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 

Hath ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are thoso, 

Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled. 

That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 

To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 

In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 

As I do thti^B. — Something too much of this. — 

There is a play to-night before the king : 

One scene of it comes near the circumstance, 

Which I have told thee of my father's death. 

I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot. 

Even with the ver}- comment of thy soul 

Observe my uncle : if his occulted guilt 

Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 

[t is a damned ghost that we liave seen ) 

And my imaginations are as foul 

As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note : 

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 

And, after, we will both our judgments join 

(n censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord. 

Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be idle 
Get you a place. 

Danish march. A flourish. Erder Kixg, Queen, PoLOUfiJjSj 
Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others. 

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the cameHon's.dish : 
[ eat the air promise-crammed : You cannot feed capons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; these words are 
not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played once in thf 
university, ycu say ? [ To Polonius. 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a good actor. 

Ham. And what did you enact ? 

Pol. I did enact Juhus Caesar : I was killed i'the Capitol ; Eruliuj 
killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital a calf there.— 
P \ the players ready ? 

Ros. Ay, my lord ; they s^ay upon your patience. 

Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more attract ^e. 

Pel O ho ! do you mark that ? [ To the Kmo 



HAMLET. 31 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 

[Lying doion at Ophelia's feet. 

Oph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ha7n. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a man do but be 
Rierry ? for, look you, how cheerfully my mother looks, and my 
father died within these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ilam. So long ? Nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll have 
& suit of sables. O heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgotten 
yet ? Then there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life 
half a year : But, by'r-lady, he must build churches then. 

Onh. What means the play, my lord ? 

Ha7n. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means mischief. 

Oph. But what is the argument of the play ? 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow. 
Fro. For us, and for our tragedy, 

Here stooping to your clemency. 

We beg your hearing patiently. 
Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring ? 
Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
Ham. As w^oman's love. 

The play selected by Hamlet is performed before tlie court ; in which the suppo9e<< 
Biurder of his father is exhibited. 

The player Uueen protests to her husband— that— 

—Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
f, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 

Ham. If she should break it now, [ To Ophelia. 

F. King. ^Tis deeply sworn. Siveet, leave me heir a ichile ; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day loiih sleep. \_Sleeps 

F. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, 

And never come mischance between us twain ! * [Exit. 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 

Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 

Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 

King. Have you heard the argument ? Is there no offence in't ? 

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest * no ofTence i'tlie 
%'orld. 

King. WTiat do you call the play ? 

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. This play 
[s the image of a murder done in Vienna : Gonzago is the Duke's 
name; h's wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece 
of work: But what of that? your majesty, and we that have free 



5li SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bouls, it touches us not : Let the galled jade wince, our withers are 
unwrung. — 

Enter a Player^ as Lucianus. 

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king, 

Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could S8« 
cue puppets dallying. — Begin, murderer ; — begin ; 

The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs Jit, and time agrcemg ; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected. 
Thy natural magic and dire property. 
On wholesome life usurp immediately. 

[Pours the poison into the sleeper'' s ears. 

Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. His name's 
Gonzago ; the story is extant, and written in very choice Italian : 
You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's 
wife. 

Oph. The king rises. 

Ham. What ! frighted with false fire ! 

Queen. How fares my lord ? 

Pol. Give o'er the play. 

Khig. Give me some light : — away ! 

Pol. Lights, hghts, lights ! 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio 

Ham. Wliy, let the strucken deer go weep, 
The hart ungalled play : 
For some must watch, while some must sleep ; 
Thus runs the world away : — 
good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound 
Did'st perceive ? 

Hor. Very well, my lord. 

Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, 

Hor. I did very well note him. 

Ham. Ah, ha ! — Come, some music ; come, the recorders. — 
For if the king like not the comedy. 
Why then, behke, — he hkes it not, perdy. 

Enter Rosexcrantz aiid Guildenstern. 

Come, some music. 

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 
Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil, The king, sir, 

Ha7n. Ay, sir, what of him ? 

Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered. 

Ha7n. W^ith drink, sir ? 



HAMLET. 33 

Guil. No, my lord, with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself iiiore richer, to signify thia 
to the doctor ; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, 
Dlun|,e him into more choler. 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some fraine, and 
start not so wildly from my affair. 

Ham. t am tame, sir : — pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great aflliction of spirit, 
hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. 
If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your 
mother's commandment : if not, your pardon, and my return, shall 
be the end of my business. 

Ham. Sir, 1 cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord ? 

Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit's diseased : But 
sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command ; or, rather, as 
you say, my mother : tlierefore, no more, but to the matter ; My 
mother, you say, 

lios. Then thus she says ; Your behavior hath struck her into 
amazement and admiration. 

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother ! — But is 
there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration ; impart. 

Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you 
any further trade with us ? 

Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 

Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper ? you do, 
surely, but bar the door upon your own liberty, if you d^ny your 
griefs to your friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice of the kmg him- 
self for your succession in Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay sir, but While the grass groivs, — the proverb is somC' 
thing musty 

Entej- the Players, loith recorders. 

O, the recorders : — let me see -one. — To withdraw with you : — Wiiy 
do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would r^rive me 
Into a toil ? 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is toe unraan* 
Bcrly. 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play unon thl» 
oipe? 

Guil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. T pray you. 

Quil. Believe me, I cannot. 



34 SHAKSPEARIAN READE-R. 

Ham. I do beseech yoii. 

Guil. I know no touch of ir, my lord. 

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ventages \vi h youi 
fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it wiL dis* 
course most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. 

Guil. But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony 
I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of 
me. You would play upon me ; you would seem to know my stops 
you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me 
from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and there is much 
music, excellent voice, in this httle organ ; yet cannot you make it 
Bpeak. S'blood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a 
pipe ? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, 
you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 

God bless you, sir. 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a camel 1 

Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed Hke a weasel. 

Ham. Or, like a whale ? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. — They fool me 
to the top of my bent. — I will come by and by. 

Pol. I will say so. [^Exit Polonius. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, friends. 

[Exeunt Ros., Guil., IIok., c^v;. 
'Tis now the very witching time of night ; 
When church3'-ards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
Contagion to this w^orld : Now could I drink hot blood, 
And do such business as the bitter day 
Would quake to look on. Soft ; now to my mother. — 
O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
1 will speak daggers to her, but use none. t Exu. 

SCENE IIL — A Room in the sam&. 
Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildensterh. 

King. I like him not : nor stands it safe with us, 
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you ; 
I your commission will forthwith dispatch, 
And he to England shall along with you : 
The tenns of our estate may not endure 



HAMLET. 35 

Hazard so near t.s. 

Arm /oil, I pray yoii, to this speedy voyage ; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
Which now goes too free-footed. 

Rns. Guil. We will haste us. 

I Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstsbh. 

Enter PolOxNius. 

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet : 
Behind the arras I'll convey myself. 
To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll tax him home. 
And. as you said, and wisely was it said, 
'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother, 
Since nature maizes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech of rantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know. 

Ki7ig, Thanks, dear my lord, [E.xit P( Losros 

O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not, 
Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blcod ? 
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy, 
But to confront the visage of offence ? 
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
Or pardon'd, being down ? Then I'll look up ; 
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder !— 
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence ? 
In the corrupted currents of this world. 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice j 
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law : But 'tis not so above : 
There is no shuffling, there the action hes 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compeU'd 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
To give in evidence. What then ? what rests i 

Trv what repentance can : What cm it not 1 
o 



36 SH^KSPEARIAN READER. 

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? 

O w retched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 

C) hmed soul ; that strugghng to be free, 

Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make assay ! 

Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings cf steel, 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 

W\ may be well ! [Retires and knefU 

SCENE lY.— Another Room in the same. 
Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home to him ; 
Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; 
And that your grace hath screen'd and stood betwe^-n 
Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Queen. Pll warrant you ; 

Fear me not : withdrav/, I hear him coming. 

[PoLOXius hides himselj 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Now, mother ; what's the matter ? 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question v/ith a wicked tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 

Ham. Vvliat's the matter now ? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so ; 

Vou are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
And, — 'would it were not so ! — you are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then 111 set those to you that can speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; 
You go not, till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me ? 
Help, help, ho ! 

Pol. [Behind.] What, ho ! help ! 

Ham. How row ! a rat ? [Draios 

Dead, for a ducat, dead. 

[Hamlet makes a pass through the arras 

Pol. [Behind.] O, I am slain. [Falls, and dies 

Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not : 

(s it the king ? 

[Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polontus 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this t 



HAMLET. ST 

Ham. A bbody deed ; — almost as bad, good mother, 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king ! 

Ham. Ah, lady, 'twas my word.— 

Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 

[7'oPoLC!i;7«' 
I took thee for thy better ; 

l^eave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you dowoi. 
And let me wring your heart : for so I shall. 
If t be made of penetrable stuff; 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so. 
That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy tongoa 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act, 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love. 
And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow j 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom. 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me, what ^ct, 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index I 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on ihis ; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
A station like the herald Mercury, 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
A combination, and a form, indeed, 
Where every God did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assurance of a man : 
This was your husband. — Look you now, what follov.'s 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, 
]]lasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes 1 
You cannot call it love : for, at your age, 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment : and what judgmeiu 
Would step from this to this ? 
O shame ! where is thy blush ? 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more. 



36 SKAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thou turn'st my eyes into my very soul ; 

And there I see such black and grained spots, 

As will not leave their tmct. 

Speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears : 

No mere, sweet Hamlei. 

Ham. A murderer, and a .nllaia . 

A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket I 

Queen. No more. 

Enter Ghost. 

JJam. A king 

Of shreds and patches : — 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gra: ious figure f 

Queen. Alas ! he's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say. 

Ghost. Do not forget : this \qsitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas, how is 't with you ? 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
O gentle son, 

Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he glares i 
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
Would make tliem capable. — Do not look upon me ; 
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern effects : then what I have to do 
Will want true color; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 

Ham. Nor did jou nothing hear ? 

Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 

Hayn. Why, look you there ! look how it steals away I 



HAMLET. 39 

My father, in his native habit as he lived i 

Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! [Exit Ghost 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
Tliis bodiless creation ecstasy 
[s very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy ! 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
And makes as healthful music : It is not madness, 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past : avoid what is to come. 

Queen. O Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in twain 

Ham. O throw away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good night : — 

And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 

[Poirding to PoLOXius 
I do repent : 

I will bestow liim, and v/ill answer well 
The death I gave him. So, again, good night ! 
I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 



ACT IV. 

The guilty King and Qneen, alarmed at the consequences which may result from 
Hamlet's evident knowledge of their crimes, determine to send him to England under the 
charge of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, with private instructions to the king of Eng- 
7and to effect " The present death of Haiidet." Thrs is done, and the young prince 
sails for England. Ophelia, overcome with grief, at the death of her father, becomes 
distracted, and seeks an interview with the Queen. Young Laertes returns from 
France, and charges the King with being privy to the murder of Polonius. 

SCENE v.— Elsinore. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Queen and Horatio. 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Hor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract. 

Queen. Let her come in. [Exit IIoratto 

'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 



40 SIIAKSPEARIAN READEE. 

Eriter Ophelia. 

Ojih. Wliere is the beauteous majesty of Deiiinark ? 
. Queen. How now, Ophelia ? 
Oph. How should I your true love know [Sivuging 

From another one 1 
By his cockle hat arid staff. 
And his sandal shoon f 
Queen. iVlas, sweet lady, what imports this song? 
Oph. Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. 

Ha is dead and gone, lady, [ Sings. 

He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a grass-green turf, 
At his heels a sioiie. 

0, ho! 

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, 

Oph. Pray you, mark. 

White his sh^cmd as the mountain snow, [Sin^s. 

Enter King. 

Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 

Oph. Larded all with sweet Jloicers ; 

Which bewept to the grave did go. 
With true-love showers. 

King. How do you, pretty lady ? 

Oph. Well, Heaven 'ield you ! They say, the owl was a bakor'a 
daughter. We know what we are, but, know not what we 
may be. 

King. How long hath she been thus ? 

Oph, I hope, all will be well. We must be patient : but I cannoi 
choose but weep, to think, they should lay liim i' the cold ground : 
My brother shall know of it, and so I thank yon for your good 
counsel. Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet 
ladies ; good night, good night. \^Exit. 

King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, I pray you. 



O ! This is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death : 

Enter a Gentleman. 

What's the matter ? 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord 

The young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
O'erbears your officers : The rabble call him, lord 
They cry. Choose we ; Laertes shall be king ! 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
Laertes shall be king, Larries king ! 



Exit HoiSATirx 



HAMLET. 41 

Queen. How cheerfully on tlie false trail they cry ! 

King. The doors are broke. [Noise Athin. 

Enter LuIertes. 

Laer. Where is this king ? — Sirs, stand you all without. 
'J thou vile king, give me roy father. 

Queen. Cahnly, good Laertes. 

Kin^. What is the cause, Laertes, 
That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? — 
Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person ; 
There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
That treason can but peep to what it would. 
Why art thou thus incens'd ; — Let him go, Gertrude ;— 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my fatlier ? 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead ? I'll not be juggled with : 
To this point I stand, — 
That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
Let come what comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 
Most throughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you ? 

Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
And, for my means, I'll husband them so well. 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
And am most sensibly in grief for it, 
It shall as level to your judgment 'pear. 
As day does to your eye. 

Enter Ophelia fantastically dressed roith straics and Jlmaers 

Laer. O rose of May ! 

Dear maid, kind sister, sweet OpheUa ! — 
O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
Nature is fine m love : and, where 'tis fine, 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After tlie thing it loves. 

Oph. Tliey bore him harcfac'd on iJie bier ; 
Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny : 
And in his ^rave raind many a tear ;— 
^Kre you well, my dove ' 



$2 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADEB. 

Laer. Hadst thou tJiy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 
It could not move thus. 

Ovli. You must sing, Doum a^oicn, an you call him a-down-a. 
O, how the wheel becomes it ! It is the false steward, that stole his 
master's daughter. 

Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 

Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray you, love, 
remember : and there is pansies, that's for tlioughts. 

Laer. A document in madness ; thoughts and remembrance 
fitted. 

Oph. There's fennel for j^ou, and columbines .--there's rue for 
you ; and here's some for me : — we may call it, herb of grace o'Sun- 
days : — you may wear your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: 
— I would give you some violets ; but they withered all, when my 
father died : — They say, he made a good end, 

For bonny sweet Rohin is all wyjoy, — [Sings. 

Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, all, 
She turns to favor, and to prettiness. 
Ojih. And will he not conic again ? 
And will he not come again ? 
No, no, lie is dead. 
Go to thy death-bed. 
He never will come again. 
J lis beard icas as white as sjiaic, 
All flaxen was his poll: 
He is gone, he is gone, 
And we cast away moan ; 
And peace be with his soul ! 
And with all Christian souls ! I pray heaven be wi' y< u ! 

[Exit OrnELia 
Laer. Do you see this, O heaven. 
King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will. 
And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me : 
If by direct or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
Our crown, our hfe, and all that we call ours, 
To you in satisfaction ; but, if not. 
Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
And w^e shall jointly labor with your soul 
To give it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
No trophy, swcjd, nor natchment, o'er his bones, 
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
That I must caJl't in question. 



HAMLET. 4 o 

King. So you shall ; 

/ nd, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go with me. [ Ejceiint. 

The ship in which Hamlet is embarked for England is attacked by pirates ; Hainlel 
boards the pirate's vessel, and is captured, but is treated with mercy, and landed on tha 
Danish coast. He sends letters to the King and Horatio, announcing his return, and de- 
tires the latter to repair to him immediately. 

In the interim, the King and Laertes become reconciled, and plan together the death 
of Hamlet. 

liaertes is to engage the Prince at a match of fencing, and with a poisoned rapier he 
engages to slay Hamlet, and thus revenge the death of Polonius. The conferenfie is iji'.nt 
rupled by the Q.ueen, who rushes in to announce tl>e fate of Ophelia. 

Enter Queen. 

King. How now, sweet queen ? 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
So fast they follow : — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. 

Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ! 

Queen. The'-e is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sHver broke ; 
When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread w ido ; 
And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up : 
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and indu'd 
Unto that element : but long it could not be, 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
PuU'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 

Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd ? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears : But yet 
It is our trick ; nature her custom holds, 
Let shame say what it will ; when these are gone, 
The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord ! 
I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze. 
But that this folly drowns it. [Exit 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude j 

How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
Now fear I, this will give it start again ; 
Tliereforo, let's follow. \_Excuml 



M SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

ACT y. 

SCENE J.— A aiurch-Yard. 

Enter Two Clowns, with spades, <^c. 

\si Clo. Is nhe to be buried in christian burial, that ^vilfully seokn 
hor own salvation ? 

2nd Clo. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her grave straight : 
the crowner hath set on her, and finds it christian burial. 

1 St Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own 
defence ? 

2nd Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 

I si Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here 
lies the point : If 1 drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and an 
act hath three branches ; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, 
she drowned herself wittingly. 

2nd Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 

1st Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands 
the man ; good : If the man go to this water, and drown himself, it 
is, will he, nill he, he goes ; mark you that : but if the water come to 
him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he. tliat is not 
guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 

2nd Clo. But is this law ? 

1st Clo. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 

2nd Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If this had not been a 
gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of christian burial. 

1st Clo. Why, there thou say'st : And the more pity; that great 
folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang them- 
selves, more than their even christian. Come, my spade. There is 
no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers ; they 
hold up Adam's profession. 

2nd Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 

1st Clo, He was the first that ever bore arms. 

2nd Clo. Why, he had none. 

1st Clo. What, art a heathen? How dos^ thou understand the 
scripture ? The scripture says, Adam digged ; Could he dig without 
arms ? I'll put another question to thee : if thou answerest me not 
to the purpose, confess thyself 

2nd Clo. Go to. 

1st Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the masoii, 
the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 

2d Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives a thousand 
tenants. — 

1st Clo. T like thy wit well, in good faith ; the gallows does well : 
But how does it well ? it does well to those that do ill : now thou dost 
al, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church ; argal, tlie 
gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 

2nd Clo. \\'ho builds stronger than ? mason, a shipwright, or a 
^rpenter ? 



HAMLET. ^ 

1 Si Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
2nd Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
1st Clo. To't. 
2nd Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 

1st Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for your dull ass will 
not mend his pace with beating : and, when you are asked this ques- 
tion next, say, a grave-maker ; the houses that he makes, last till 
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of 
Uquor. [Exit 2nd Clown. 

1st Clown digs, and sings. 

I?i youth, ivhen I did love, did love, 
JMethought, it loas very sweet. 
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove 
O, methought, there was nothing meet. 

Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? he sings at 
grave-making. 

Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. 

Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment hath the daintier 
sense. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once : How 
the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that 
did the first murder ! This might be the pate of a politician ; one 
that would circumvent heaven, might it not ? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play al 
foggats with them ? mine ache to think on't. There's another : 
Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddita 
now, his quilJits, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he 
suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a 
dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery ? Humph ! 
This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries : Is 
this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have 
his fine pate full of fine dirt ? will his vouchers vouch him no more 
of Ills purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth 
of a pair of indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands will 
hardly lie in his box ; and must the inheritor himself have no more ? 
fca? 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

Ham. I will speak to this fellow : — Whose grave is this, sirrah ? 

Isi Clo. Mine, sir. — 

O, a pit of clay for to he made, [Sings. 

For such a guest is meet. 
Ham.. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou Hest in't. 
ist Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours : for my 
part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 



18 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine : 'tis for Lhs 
dead, not for the quick ; therefore thou hest. 

\st Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again, from nie to you 

Ham, What man dost thou dig it for ? 

\st Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman, then ? 

1 St Clo. For none neither. 

Ham. Who is to be buried in't ? 

\st Clc. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's 
dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card, or 
equivocation will undo ns. By the lord, Horatio, these three years 
I have taken note of it ; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of 
tne peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. 
■ — How long hast thou been a grave-maker ? 

\st Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that day that our 
last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long's that since ? 

1 St Clo. Cannot you tell that ? every fool can tell that : It was 
that very day that young Hamlet was born : he that is mad, and sent 
into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 

\st Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover hi-s wit"! 
there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there. 

Ham. Why? 

1st Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there the men are a» 
mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

\st Clo. Very strangely, they say. 

Ham,. How strangely ? 

\st Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing liis wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground ? 

1 St Cio. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sexton here, map 
and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot ? 

1st Clo. Why, sir, here's a skull now 'hath lain you i' the earth 
three-and-t\^ enty years. 

Ham. Whose was it ? 

1st Clo. A mad fellow's it was ; Whose do you think it was ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

1st Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flagon 
of Rhenish on my head once. Tliis same skull, sir, was Yorick's 
skull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This ? [Takes the skull 

1st Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow^ of in- 
finite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a 
thousand times. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know 
not how o^. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your 



HAMLET. 47 

«ongs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set tne table 
on a roar ? Not one now to mock your own grinning ? quite chap- 
fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her 
paint an inch thick, to tliis favor she must come ; make her laugh at 
that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 

Hor. What's that, my lord ? 

Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this fashion i' 
iuie earth ? 

Hor. E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! [Throws doicn tlie skull 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Hora'^io ! Why may 
not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stop- 
ping a bung-hole ? 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so ? 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty 
enough, and likelihood to lead it : As thus ; Alexander died, Alex- 
ander was buried, Alexander returned to dust ; the dust is earth ; 
of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was 
converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 

Imperious Caesar, dead, and turn'd to clay. 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe. 
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft ! aside ; — Here comes the king. 

Enter Priests, ^c, in 'procession ; tlie corpse of Ophelia, Laertes, 
and Mourners following : King, Queen, their Trains^ ^c. 

The queen, the courtiers : Who is this they follow ? 

And with such maimed rites ! This doth betoken, 

The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 

Foredo its own life. 'Twas of some estate : 

Couch we awhile, and mark. [Retiring with Horatio 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

Ham. ' That is Laertes. 

A very noble youth : Mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else ? 

1 Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd 
As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ; 
And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, 
Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, 
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 

Laer. Must there no more be done ? 

I Priest. No more be dons .' 



iS SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

W"e should profane the service of the dead 
To sing a requiem, and such rest to her, 
As to peace-parted souis. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth, — 

And from hsr fair and unpolluted flesh 
May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churhsh priesi . 
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
When thou liest howling. 

Hai&. What, the fair Ophelia ! 

Queen, Sweets to the sweet: Fareweli , [Scaiterivgjltmcrs, 

I hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Depriv'd thee of ! — Hold off the earth awhile, 
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 

[Leaps into the grav6r 
Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead ; 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
Like wonder- wounded hearers ? this is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into ilie grave 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! [ Grappling with hin^ 

Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
For, though I am not splenetive and rash. 
Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
Which let thy wisdom fear : Hold off thy hand. 

King. Pluck them asunder. 

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 

All. Gentlemen, 

Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the gram 

Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this tlieme, 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 

Queen. O my son ! what theme ? 

Ham. I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
Could not with all their quantity of love 
Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her ? 

King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 

Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do : 
Woul't weep ? woul't fight ? woul't fast ? woul't tear thyself^ 
Woul't drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? 



HAMLKT. 



49 



I'll do't. — Dost thou come here to whine ? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us ; till our ground 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mout 
rn rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness. 

And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove. 
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd. 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir ; 

What is the reason, that you use me thus ? 
I lov'd you ev-er : But it is no matter ; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may. 
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day, [ Exit 

King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. — 

[ f]xil Horatio. 
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech ; [ To Laertes. 
We'll put the matter to the present push. — 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
This grave shall have a living monument : 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 

Ilamlet has learned the intentions of the King, in sending him to England, and 
while consulting with Hoiatio how to act, a messenger comes from Claudius inviting the 
Prince to a " trial of skill " in fencing, with Laertes ; Hamlet accepts the challenge, and 
the scene changes to a Hall in the Palace where the court are assembled to witness tht 
enconnter. 

SCENE the last.— A Hall in Hie Castle. 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, 
and Attendants with foils, i^-c. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. 

{The King 'puis the hand 0/ Laertes into that o/Haihli:t, 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done you wrong ; 
But pardon it as you are a gentleman. 
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house, 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge : 

^ do receive your offer'd love like love, 
And will not wrong it. 



hG SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Hajn. I embrace it freely ; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. — 
Give us the foils ; come on. 

Laer. Come, one for me. 

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock m.e, sir 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousin Hamlet, 
You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side 

King. I do not fear it : I have seen you both : — 
But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham. This hkes me well : These foils have all a length ? 

[They prepare to I lay 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table •- 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange. 
Let all the battlements their ordnanoe fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn ; Give me the cups ; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 
Now the king drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin ; — 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Ham. Come on, sir, 

Laer. Come, my lord. [They 'play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgment. 

Qsr, A hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer. Well, — again. 

King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, this pearl is thine ; 
Mere's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 

[Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within. 

Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
Come. — Another hit ; What say you ? \Tliey play. 

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet 

Ham. Good madam, 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 



HAMLET. 61 

(^ueen. I will, my lord ; — I pray yoii, pardon me. 

King. It is the poison'd cnp ; it is too late. [Aside 

Laer. I'll hit him now ; 

And yet it is almost against my conscience. \_Aside. 

Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but dally ; 
. pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. 

Laer. Say you so ? come on. [ Thexj jilay. 

[Laertes wounds llxmi.'ET ', tlien^ in scuffling, th€^> 

change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes. 

King. Part them, they are incens'd. 

Ham. Nay, come again. [The Qvee's falls. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides : — How is it, my lord ? 

Osr. How is't, Laertes ? 

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric ; 
I urn justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How does the queen ? 

King. She swoons to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O my dear Hamlet ! — 
The drink, the drink ; — I am poison'd ! [Dies 

Ham. O villany ! — Ho ! let the door be lock'd : 
Treacheiy ! seek it out. [Laertes /aZ/.s 

Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain ; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good ; 
In thee there is not half an hour's life ; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated, and envenom'd : the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I He, 
Never to rise again : Thy mother's poison'd ; 
I can no more ; the king, the king's to blame. 

Ham. The point 
Envenom'd too ! — Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the K^inc. 

Follow my mother. 

Laer. He is justly serv'd ; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. — 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet : 
Mine and my father's death come not upon thee ; 
Nor thine on me ! [Diei 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death, 
Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, — 
But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou Uv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hoi'. Never believe it ; 



52 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

T am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
Here's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou'rt a man, — 

Give me the cup , let go ; by heaven I'll have it. — 
O Heaven ! — Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me ! 
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
To tell my story. — O, I die, Horatio ; 
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit : 
The rest is silence. "7>ies 

Her. Now cracks a noble heart ; — Good-nighty iA'cet prinaV; 
A.nd lights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 



Variois sources have be assigned, from which Shakspeare bcrrowec he sUii-y of 
%u comedy; Orlando Furioso, The Faery Q,ueen, and a novel of Bandello's, hav« 
Jich been cited as furnishing the original conception of the plot. It is perhaps of little 
consequence whence the poet drew his materials : the play itself is so full of life and 
character, so teeming with wit, poetry, and humor, as to render the mere superstructure 
3B which the incidents are founded a matter of no account to the general reader. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 

Don John, his illegitimate brother. 

Claudio, a young lord of Florence, favorite to Don Pedro. 

Benedick, a young lord of Tadna, favorite likewise to Don Pedro 

Leonato, governor of Messina. 

Antonio, his brother. 

Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. 

BoRACHio, CoNRADE, /oZ/oroers o/Don John. 

Dogberry, Verges, two foolish officers. 

A Sexton, A Friar, A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 

Margaret, Ursula, gentlewomen attending on Heio. 
MessengersJV atch, and Attendants. 
SCENE,— Messina 



ACT I. 

SCENE L— Before Leonato's House. 
Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a M2ssengeT. 
Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes tills 
night to Messina. 



64 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

?iless. He is very near by this ; he was not three leagues ofl' wlien 
I left him. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action ? 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home 
full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much 
nonor on a young Florentine, called Claud io. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by 
Don Pedro : He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age ; 
doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you 
how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad 
of it. 

Mess. I have already delivered him lettei-s and there appears 
much joy in him ; even so much, that joy could not show itself 
modest enough, without a badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness ; There are no faces truer 
than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at 
joy, than to joy at weeping ? 

Beat. I pray you, is signior JMontanto returned from the wars, 
or no ? 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was none such in 
the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was. 

Beat. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these 
wars ? But how many hath he killed ? for, indeed, I promised to 
eat all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much ; but he'll 
be meet with you, I doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it : he is a 
very valiant trencher-man, ne hath an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — But what is he to a lord ? 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuflTed with all honor- 
able virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed man : but fof 
the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there is a kind of 
merr}'- war betwixt signior Benedick and her : they never meet, but 
there is a skirmish of wit between them. 

Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of 
his five wits went halting off, and dw is the old man governed with 



MUCK ADC ABOUT NOTHING. 55 

one : so that if he have wit enough to keep himself wanu, fet him 
bear it for a difference between himself and his horse ; for it is all 
the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. — • 
Who is his companion now ? I5e hath every month a new sworn 
brother. 

Mess. Is it possible ? 

Beat. Very easily possible : tie wears his faith but as the fashion 
of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. 

3[ess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. 

Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, 
who is his companion ? 

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. 

Beat. O ! he will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner 
caught than the pestilence : and the taker runs presently mad. 
Heaven help the noble Claudio ! if he have ccught the Benedick, it 
will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 

Mess. I will hold friends Vv'ith you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and others, Don John, 
Claudio, and Benedick. 

D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your 
trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you en- 
counter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your 
grace ; for trouble being gone, comfort should remain ; but when 
you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. — I think, this 
is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

D. Pedro. Be happy, lady, for you are like an honorable father. 

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have hia 
head on her shoulders, for all Messina, as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick; 
nobody marks you. 

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet living ? 

Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she hath such meet 
food to feed it, as signior Benedick ? Courtesy itself must convert 
to disdain, if you come in her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turn- coat : — But it is certain, I am loved 
of all ladies, only you excepted : and I would I could find in my heart 
that I had not a hard heart : for, truly, I love none. 

Beat. A dear happiness to woman ; they would else have bec^n 
troubled with a pernicious suitor. I had rather hear my dog bark at 
B crow, than a man swear he loves me. 



56 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bene. Heaven keep your ladyship still in that mind ! so some gen' 
tleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face 
as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast of yours. 

Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your tongue ; and eo 
g )od a continuer : But keep your way ; I have done. 

Brat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know you of old. 

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : — Leonato, — signior Claudio, and 
signior Benedick, — my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I 
tell him, we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily 
prays some occasion may detain us longer : I dare swear he is no 
hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. — Let me 
bid you welcome, my lord : being reconciled to the prince youi 
brother, I owe you all duty. 

D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words, but I thank yon 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go together. 

[^Exeunt all hut Benedick and Cla.udio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato ? 

Bene. I noted her not : but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 

Bene. Do you question me as an honest man should do, for my 
liiinple true judgment; or would you have me speak after iny cus- 
tom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 

Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she is too low for a high praise, too 
brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise : only this 
commendation . I can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she 
were unhandsome ; and being no other but as she is, I do not like 
her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport ; I pray thee, tell me trul^ 
how thou likest her ? 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her ? 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a 
sad brow ? or do you play the flouting jack ; to tell us Cupid is a 
good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, in what key^ 
shall a man take you, to go in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked 
on. 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see no such matter : 
there's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fnry, exceeds 
her as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the last of December. 
But 1 hope, you have no intent to turn husband ; have you ? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the con' 
trarv, if Hero would be my wife. 



MUCH ABO ABOUT NOTHING. oT 

Bene. Is it come to this, i' faith ? Hath not the world one man, 
but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bache- 
lor of three-score again ? Go to, i' faith : an thou wilt needs thrust 
thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. 
Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not 
to Leonato's ? 

Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to tell. 

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret as a dumb man, 
I would have you think so ; but on my allegiance, — mark you this, 
on my allegiance : — He is in love. With who ? — now that is your 
grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : With Hero, Leonato'a 
short daughter. 

Claud. If this w^ere so, so w^ere it uttered. 

Ben£. Like the old tale, my lord : " it is not so, nor 'twas not so : 
but, indeed. Heaven forbid it should be so." 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly. Heaven forbid it should 
be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is very well 
worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 

Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Claud. That I love her, I feel. 

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how 
she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; 
I will die in it at the stake. 

D. Pedro. Thou v/ast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of 
beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of hia 
will. 

Be7ie. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any 
woman, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and the fine is, (for 
the which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. 

D, Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord ; not 
with love : prove, that ever I lose more blood with love, than I will 
get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's 
pen, and hang me up for the sign of blind Cupid. 

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt 
prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me ; and 
Be that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam, 



5« SHAKSPEAEIAN READER. 

D Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 

In time the savage bull doth hear the yoke. 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensible Benedich 
bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead : and 
.at me be vilely painted ; and in such great letters as they write, Here is 
good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, — Here you may see 
Benedick, the married man. 

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be horn-mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, 
thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 

D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the 
meantime, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's ; commend me 
to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he 
hath made great preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage ; 
and so I commit you — 

Claud. To the tuition of Heaven : From my house, (if I had it) — 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend. Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of your discourse is 
sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly 
basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any further, examine youi 
conscience ; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedis^e. 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. 

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach it but how, 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir • 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O my lord, 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. 
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love ; 
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
If tliou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; 
And I will break with her, and with her father, 
And thou shalt have her : Was't not to this end, 
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ? 

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
That know love's grief by his con' plexion ! 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. OJf 

But lest my Jiking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 

D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood ? 
The fairest grant is the necessity : 
Look, what v/ill serve, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; 
And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
( know, we shall have revelling to-nighi ; 
[ will assume thy part in some disguise, 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
\nd strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
En practice bt us put it presently. \^Ebueina. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — A Hall in Leon^to's House. 
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. 

Tyon. Was not ccimt John here at supper ? 

A^^/. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see hira, bul 
I Jim heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid- 
A'ay between him and Benedick ; the one is too like an image, and 
says nothing ; and the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore 
tattling. 

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, 
and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough 
in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, — if lit 
could get her good will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if 
^hou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

Ant. Well, niece, [to Hero,] I trust you will be ruled by yout 
father. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it's my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, 
Father, as L please you : — but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a 
handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, Father, as 
it please me. 

Leom Well, niece, I hcpe to see you one day fitted with a hus- 
ta;id. 

Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal than earth. 
Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of 
valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward 
4 



80 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

marl ? No, uncle, I'll hold none. Adam's sons are my brethren ; and 
truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if the prince do 
solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd 
in good time : if the prince be too important, tell him, there is measure 
In every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear mc, Hero ', 
wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a 
cinque-pace : the first suit is hot and hasty, hke a Scotch jig, and fuh 
as fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of 
state and ancientry ; and then comes repentance, and, with his bad 
legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his 
grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle, I can see a church by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make good room. 

The Plot arranged by Don Pedro, is carried into execution at the masked Ball given 
byLeonato. The Prince disguised as Claudio, wooes Hero, and obtains confession of hei 
ove. He also breaks the matter to Leonato, who cheerfully consents to the union of his 
daughter with Claudio. 

Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, and Hero, now undertake to bring Beaedick and 
Beitnce ' into a mountain of affection. ' — Their plans are carried out in the two follow 
iBg s(«nes. 

SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benedick and a Boy. 

Bene. Boy, — 

Boy. Siguier. 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring it lijther to nie u* 
the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, sir. 

Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee hence, and here again. 
[Exit Boy.] — I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much 
another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, 
after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the 
argument of his own scorn, by falling in love : And such a man i& 
Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him but the 
drum and fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the pipe ; 
I have known, when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a 
good armor ; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion 
of a new doublet, flo was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, 
like an honest man, and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer; 
his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. 
iSIay I be so converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; 1 
Uiink not : I will nol be sworn, but love may transform me to an 
oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he hath made an oyster of me, 
he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; yet I am 
veil '. arother is wise ; vet I am well : another \irtuous ; vet I am 



MUCH ADO ABCUT NC THING, 61 

well : but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come 
in my grace. Rich, she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; 
virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never look on her ; 
mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of good 
discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what color 
it please. Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will hide me m 
the arbor. [Witkdratas, 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Clauzio. 

D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 

Claud. Yea, my good lord :— How still the evening is, 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself ? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music ended. 
We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthazar, with music. 

D. Pedro. Come Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. 

Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander music any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
To put a strange face on his own perfection : — 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 

Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing : 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes ; 
Yet he will swear, he loves. 

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes. 

There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. 

D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he speak i ; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [ VwsM 

Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! 

Balthazar sings, 

I. Srgh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 

Men ivere deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore; 
To one thing constant never: 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go, 
And he you blithe and bonny ; 
Converting all your sounds of icoe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

II. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 

Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 



B2 SHAKSPEAKIAN READEH. 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first icas leavy. 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

D. Pedro. Bv my t) oth, a good song. 
Balth. And an ill si.iger, my lord. 

Claud. Ha ? no , no, faith ; thou singest well enough for a sfift 
Bene. \_Aside.'\ — An he had heen a dog, that should have howled 
.hus, they would have hanged him : and, I pray Heaven his bad 
voice bode no mischief ! I had as lief have heard the night raven, 
come what plague could have come after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; \to Claudio.] — Dost thou hear, Baltha- 
aar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent music ; for to-morrow 
night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Do so: farewell, [^xeirn^ Balthazae and music.'] 
Come hither, Leonato : What was it you told me of to-day ? that 
your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick ? 

Claud. O, ay : — Stalk on, stalk on : the fowl sits. \_Aside to 
Pedro.] — I did never think that lady would have loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that she should so 
dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outwtrd behavior? 
seemed ever to abhor. 

Bene. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that corner ? [Aside. 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it ; but 
that she loves him with an enraged affection, — it is past the infinite 
of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. Counterfeit ! There never was counterfeit of passion came 
»o near the life of passion, as she discovers it. 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she ? 

Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. \_Aside. 

Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you, — 
You heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You amaze me : I would 
have thought her spirit had been invincible against all assaults of 
affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; especially against 
Benedick. 

Bene. [Aside.] — I should think this a gull, but that the white- 
bearded fellow speaks it ; knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such 
reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. [Aside. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick ? 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her torment. 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : Shall /, says 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTIiING. 63 

«>he, that have so oft encountered Mm y;iih scorn, write to Mm that 1 
.ove Mm ? 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him : 
for she'll be up twenty times a night : and there will she sit till she 
have writ a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all. Then she 
will tear the letter into a thousand half-pence ; rail at herself, that 
she should write to one that she knew would flout her : / measure 
Mm, says she, by my own spirit ; for I would Jiout Mm, if lie writ to 
me ; yea, thmgh I love Mm, I should. 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats 
her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; — O sweet Benedick ! 

Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and the ecstasy 
hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afraid 
she will do a desperate outrage to herself: It is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it by some other, 
if she will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end ? He would but make a sport of it, and 
torment the poor lady worse. 

D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang him : She's an 
excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 

Leon. I am sorry for her. as I have just cause, being her uncle 
and her guardian. 

D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage on me ; I would 
have dafF'd all other respects, and made her half myself: I pray you, 
tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die ; for she says, she will 
die if he love her not ; and she Vv'ill die ere she makes her love 
known : and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate 
one breadth of her accustomed crossness. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender of her love, 
'tis very possible he'll scorn it : for the man, as you know all, hath a 
contemptuous spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. 

Claud. And in my mind, very wise. 

D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit, 

Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you ; and in the managing of 
quarrels you may say he is wise ; for either he avoids them with 
great discretion, or undertakes them with a most Christian-like 
fear. Well, I am sorry for your niece : Shall we go see Benedick, 
and tell him of her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it out vvith good 
tcunsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her heart out first. 



64 SHAKSPEARIAN RE tDER. 

D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daugh er : let i* 
cool the while. I love Benedick well : and I could wish he would 
modestly examine himself to see how much he is unworthy so good 
a lady. 

Leon. My lOrd, wiil you walk ? dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not doat on her upon this, I will never trust my 
expectation. \^Aside. 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for her : and that 
must your daughter, and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will 
be, when they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 
matter ; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a 
dumb show. Let us send her to call him to dinner. \^Aside. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonatca 
Benedick advances from the arbor. 

Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was sadly borne. — 
They have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the 
lady ; it seems, her affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, 
it must be requited. I hear how I am censured : they say, I will 
bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from her ; they say 
too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. — I did 
never think to marry — I must not seem proud : — Happy are they 
that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They 
say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear the-n witness : and vir- 
tuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but for loving me : — 
By my troth, it is no addition to her wit ; — nor no great argument 
of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance 
have some odd qu/rks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I 
have railed so long against marriage : But doth not the appetite 
alter ? A man loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper bullets of the 
brain, awe a man from the career of his humor? No: When 1 
said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were 
married. — Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady : I do 
spy some marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrtce. 

Beat. Aga'nst my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat, i took no more pains for those thanks, than you take paiw 
to thank me ; if it had been painful, I would not have come. 

Beiie. You take pleasure then in the message ? 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, 
and choke a daw withal : — You have no stomach, signior ; fare you 
vsell. [Exit. 

Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to hid you come to dinner 
—there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those, 
thanks, than you took pains to thank me — that's as much as to say, 
A.ny pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks : — If I do not take 
pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew : I will 
go g9i her picture. [ExiU 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 66 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, r.in thee into the parlor ; 
There thou shalt find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing with the prince and Claudio : 
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
Ts all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us ; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun. 
Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favorites. 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it : — there will she hide her 
To hsten our purpose : This is thy office, 
Bear thee weL in it, and leave us alone. 

Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. Exit 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
As we do trace this alley up and down, 
Our talk must only be of Benedick ; 
When I do name him, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin ; 

Enter Beatrice, hehind. 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. * 

Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 

Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing 
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 

[ They advance to tie h -wer 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
[ know, her sjiirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards* of the rock. 

Urs. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 

Hero. So says ^xie prince, and my new-trothed lord. 

* A species of hawks. 



fi6 SHAKSFEARIAN READEH. 

Un. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : 
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection, 
And never to let Beatrice know of ii,. 

Urs. Why did you so ? 

Hero. Nature never framed a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
IVIisprising what they look on ; and her wit 
Values itself so highly, that to her 
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Wliy, you speak truth : I never yet saw nm^. 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced. 
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic. 
Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out : 
And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 

Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 

Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashioua, 
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, 
She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, Uke cover'd fire. 
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
It were a better death tJian die with mocks. 

Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
To sth'n my cousin with : One doth not knov/. 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong-. 
She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
(Having so swift and excellent a vdt, 
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
So rare z. g' iVman as signior Benedick. 



mijch ado about nothing, 67 

ITpto. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

XJrs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, 
Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valor. 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. — 
When are you married, madam ? 

Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come, go in ; 
I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel, 
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught her, madam. 

Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

[Exeunt Hero ajid Ursula 

Beatrice advances. 

Beat. What fire is in my ears ? Can this be true ? 

Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much ? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. 
And Benedick, love on, I will requite thee ; 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [ Exit. 

Beatrice and Benedick are snccessfully played upon, and a mutual affection grows np 
between them. 

A double plot is now developed. Don John, brother to Pedro, .a envious, dis- 
contented man, is jealous of Claudio's interest with the Prince, and detemines to revenge 
himself. For this purpose he plans with his servant, Horachio, to throw suspicion on the 
character of Hero. Don John undertakes to place the Prince and Claudio within hearing, 
near Hero's chamber window, while Borachio addresses Margaret, Hero's waiting woman^ 
by the name of her mistress, while she returns the greeting most familiarly. 

Borachio, returning from this interview, meets his fellow servant, Conrade, to whom 
he discloses the business he had been engaged in. They are overheard by the city watoh, 
and are taken in custody. 

The following scene introduces one of Shakspeare's most celebrated characters. 
Digberry, the constable, is a masterpiece of humor,— the type of a class, the ignorant 
Wpercilitvu " Jack 1q ofBce." 

SCENE III.— A Street. 
Enter Dogberry a7id Verges, ivith the Watch. 
Dugb. Are you good men and true ? 

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should sulTer salvation, 
aody and soul. 



68 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if the^ 
should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the princess 
watch. 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. 

Dogh. First, who think you the most desartless man to be con-- 
stable ? 

\sL Watch. Ilugn Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; for they can 
write and read. 

Dogh. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal : Heaven hath blessed you 
KHth a good name : to be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune ; 
but to write and read comes by nature. 

2nd Watch. Both which, master constable, 

Dogh. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for 
your favor, sir, why, give Heaven thanks, and rhake no boast of it ; 
and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no 
need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless 
and fit man for the constable of the watch, therefore bear you the 
lantern : This is your charge ; You shall comprehend all vagrom 
men ; you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 

27id Watcli. How if he will not stand ? 

Dogh. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and 
presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank Heaven you 
are rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the 
prince's subjects. 

Dogh. True, and they are to meddle w^ith none but the prince's 
subjects : — You shall also make no noise in the streets ; for, for the 
watch to babble and talk, is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

^nd Watch. We v/ill rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs 
to a watch. 

Dogh. Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman ; 
for I cannot see how sleeping should offend : only, have a care that 
your bills be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses 
and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 

2nd Watch. How if they will not ? 

Dogh. Why then, let them alone till they are sober ; if they make 
you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men 
you took them for. 

2nd Watch. Well, sir. 

Dogh. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of youi 
office, to be no true man : and for such kind of men, the less you 
meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 

2nd Watch. If w^e know him to be a thief, shall we not lay handa 
on him ? 

Dogh. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, they that 
touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable w^ay for you, if you 
do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out 
of your company. 

Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 69 

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much mrnt-e a 
Qian who hath any honesty in him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the 
nurse, and bid her still it. 

2vA Wafch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? 

Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her witJi 
crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it 'baes, wiU 
never answer a calf when he bleats. 

Verg. 'Tis very true. 

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to pre- 
&ent the prince's own person ; if you meet the prince in the night, 
you may stay him. 

Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. 

Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that Knows the 
statues, he may stay him : marry, not without the prince be willing : 
for, indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
to stay a man against his Vv^ll. 

Ve?g. By'r lady, I think it be so. 

Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any 
matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows' counsels 
and your own, and good night. — Come, neighbor. 

2nd Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let us go sit here 
upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. 

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbors : I pray you, watch about 
signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, 
there is a great coil to-night : Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 

[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

Ejiter BoRACHio and Conrade. 

Bora. What ! Conrade, — 

Watch. Peace, stir not [Aside, 

Bora. Conrade, I s*y ! 

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, for it drizzles 
rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. 

W'atch. [Aside.] — Some treason, masters ; yet stand close. 

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand 
ducats. 

CoTL Is it possible that any villany should be so dear ? 

Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible any villany 
should be so rich ; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, 
ooor ones may make what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows, thou art unconfirmed . Thou knowest, that the 
fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the f-ishiou. 



JO SKAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the foors the fool. But secei 
tliou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? 

Watch. I know that Deformed ; he has been a vile thief this seven 
year ; he goes up and down like a gentleman : I remember his name. 

[Asifie. 
Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 

Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is ? 
oow giadily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and 
live and thirty ? 

Con. All this I see ; and see, that the fashion wears out more 
apparel than the man : But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion 
too, that thou hast siiifted out of thy tale into telling me of the 
fashion ? 

Bora. Not so neither, but know, that I have to-night wooed Mar- 
garet, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero ; she leans 
me out at her mistress' cham.ber window, bids me a thousand times 
good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I should first tell thee how the 
prince, Claudio, and my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by 
my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable en- 
counter. 

Con. And thought thev, Margaret was Hero ? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio, but my mastei 
knew she was Margaret ; and parlly by his oaths, which first pos- 
sessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but 
chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John 
had made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore he would meet her as 
lie was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the 
whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and 
send her home again without a husband. 

1st Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. 

2nd Watch. Call up the right master constable : we have here re- 
covered the most dangerous piece of villany that ever was known iD 
the commonwealth. 

1st Watch. And one Deform.ed is one of them. 

Con. Masters, masters. 

2nd Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. 

Con. Masters, — 

1st Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us obey you to ^c 
with us. 

Bora. We are like^ to prove a goodly commodity, being takim "up 
D** these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity n question, I warrant you. Come, we'L 
fbey you. [ Exit. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING; 71 



ACT IV. 

Claudio, deceived by the machinations of Don John, believes Hero to be iinfaithfal 

On tlie day appointed for the marriage, he attends in the church, and, before tha 

tsiembled guests, denounues Hero as being faJse, and refuses to marry her — Hero sw(>oai 

»n hearing the charge, and Claudio and his friends retire. The Priest or Friar eH{,'v«^ 

to perform the nuptial ceremony, interferes to appease the wrath of Leonato. 

Enter Friar, Hero, Leonato, Benedick, ami Bkatr'cs. 

Friar. Hear me a little ; 
For I have only been silent so long, 
And given way unto this course of fortune, 
By noting of the lady ; I have mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions start 
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
In angel witnesses bear away thos i blushes 
And in her eye tliere hath appear'd a fire, 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool ; 
Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
Which with experimental zeal doth warrant 
The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity. 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be : 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath lefl, 
Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
Why seek'st thou tlien to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness ? 

Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? 

Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know none : 
If I know more of any man alive, 
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father, 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honor; 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard. 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 

Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her, 
These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honor, 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 



72 SHAKSPEARIAN READEa. 

Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
Nor my bad Hfe reft me so much of friends, 
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind. 
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind. 
Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them tnoroughly. 

Friar. Pause a while, 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
And publish it that she is dead indeed : 
Maintain a mourning ostentation ; 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. 

Leon. What shall become of this ? What will this dd % 

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. 
Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
Shall be Umiented, pitied, and excus'd, 
Of every hearer : For it so falls out, 
That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue, that possession would not show us 
Whiles it was ours : So will it fare with Claudio : 
When he shall hear she died upon his words. 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination ; 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
More moving-deHcate, and full of life, 
Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he raouro, 
And wish he had not so accus'd her ; 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion the event in better shape 
Than I can lay it dov/n in Ukelihood. 
But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
The supposition of the lady's death 
Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
(As best befits her wounded reputation,) 
In some reclusive and religious life, 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. Signlor Lconato, let the friar advise ycii . 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



IB 



And though, you know, my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honor, I will deal in this 
As secretly and justly as your soul 
Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 
For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. — 
Come, lady, die to live ; this wedding day, 
Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and endure. 

[Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? 

Beat. Yea, and 1 will weep awhile longer. 

Bene. I will not desire that. 

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man desen^e of me that would 
right her. 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ? 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it ? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as you ; Is not that 
ttrange ? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were as possible for 
me to say, I loved nothing so well as you : but believe me not ; and 
vet I lie not ; 1 confess nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorry for 
my cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I will make him 
eat it, that says, I love not you. 

Beat. Will you not eat your word ? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I protest, I love 
thee. 

Beat. WTiy then, Heaven forgive me ! 
. Bene. What ofFence, sweet Beatrice ? 

Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to pro- 
test I loved you. 

Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that none is icft to 
protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 

Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell. 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, thougn I am here ' —There is no love in you ;— 



7'i SHAKSPEARJAN REIDEK. 

Nay, I pray you, let me go. 

Bene. Beatrice, — 

Beat. In faith, I will go. 

Bejie. We'll be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me. than figl t with DaiRS 
enemy. 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slan- 
dered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman ? — O, that I were a man ! 
— What 1 bear her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then 
with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancor. — O 
Heaven, that I were a man ! I w^ould eat his heart in the market- 
place. 

Bejie. Hear me, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — ^a proper saying. 

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes, and counties ? Surely, a princely testimony, a 
goodly count-confect ; a sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man 
for his sake ! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! 
But manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and 
men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too : he is now as 
valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot be 
a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love thee. 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. 

Bene. Think you in vour soul the count Claudio hath wronged 
Hero? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him ; I will kiss 
your hand, and so leave you : By this hand, Claudio shall render me 
a dear account : As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort 
your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, farewell. \ Exeunt 

SCENE II.— A Prison. 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns ; and the Watch 
with CoNRADE and Borachio. 

Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 

Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 

Dogh. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhibition to examine. 

Sexton. But which £jre the offenders that are to be examined 1 
let them come before master constable. 

Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is youj 
name, friend ? 

Bora. Borachio. 



MUCH ADO ABOrjT NOTHING. 75 

Dogh. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, sirrah ? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. 

Dogh. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — Masters, it is 
tiroved already that you are little better than false knaves ; and it will 
go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? 

Con, Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Dogh. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go 
about with liim. — Come you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear, sir ; 
I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 

Dogh. Well, stand aside. — They are both in a talb . Have you 
writ aown — that they are none ? 

Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine ; you 
nuist call forth the watch that are their accusers. 

Dogh. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : Let the watch come 
forth : Masters, I charge you, in the prince'^ name, accuse these 
men. 

1st Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother 
was a villain. 

Dogh. Write down — prince John a villain : — Why this is flat per- 
jury, to call a prince's brother — villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dogh. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy look, I promise 
thee. 

Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 

2nd Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of 
Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. 

Dogh. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 

Sexton. What else, fellow ? 

\st Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, t»i 
disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. 

Dogh. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemp 
tion for this. 

Sexton. What else ? 

2nd Watch. This is all. 

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince 
John is this morning secretly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner 
accused, in this very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, 
suddenly died. — Master constable, let these men be bound, and 
brought to Leonato's ; I will go before and show him their examina- 
tion. [Exit. 

Dogh. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let them be in band. 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dogh. Where's the sexton ? let him write down — the prince's 
officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind them : — Thou naughty varlet ! 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Dogh. Dost thou not suspect my place ?. Dost thou not suspect 



JQ SHAKSPEARIAN REAIEK. 

my years : — O that he were here to write mc down — an ass ! but, 
masters, remember, that I am an ass ; though it be not written down, 
yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou villain, thou art full of 
piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise 
fellow ; and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a house- 
holder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- 
sina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a nch fellow enough, 
go to ; and a fellow tnat hath had ?osses ; and one that hath two 
gowns, and every thing handsome about him : Bring him away. O, 
that I had been writ do\\Ti — an ass ! [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Hero's innocence is completely established by tiae confession of Borachio 

Claudio, on learning how unjustly he had accused his mistress, implores the forgiveness 

ofLeonato, anu offers any reparation within his power — supposing that Hero is dead. 

Leonato invites Jim to come to his House, " to-morrow morning" — and proposes to give 

him the hand of a niece of his, in marriage. Claudio consents. The next Scene windi 

UD the story of this incomparable comedy. 

SCENE. — A Room in Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedigk, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, 
and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her 
Upon the error that you have heard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for this ; 
Although against her will, as it appears 
\n the true course of all the question. 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enfcrc'd 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd ! 
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
To visit me : — Y ou know your office, brother ; 
Vou must be father to your brother's daughter, 
hnd give lier to young Claudio. [ Exeunt Ladies 

Ant. Which I will do with confimi'd countenance. 

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior ? 

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. — 
Bignior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 
Vour niece regards me with an eye of favor. 

Leoit. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'Tis most true, 

Bens. And I do with an eye of iove requite her. 

Leon. The sight, wherec f, I think, you had from me, 
From Claudio and the prince ; But what's your will ? 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NCTHING. T1 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: 
But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
In the estate of honorable marriage ; — 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, lyi^ft, Attendants. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 

Leon. Good moiTow, prince ; good morrow, Claudio ; 
We here attend you ; Are you yet detennin'd 
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? 

Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiop. 

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. 

[Exit Axroaia 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : Why, wnat's the matter, 
That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of stonn, and cloudiress ? 

Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull :-- - 
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 

Claud. Here come other reckonings. 
Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 

Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see your face. 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand. 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : [Unmas} ing 
And when you lov'd, you were my other husband, 

Claud. Another Hero ? 

Hero. Nothing certainer ; 

One Hero died defam'd ; but I do live. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 

Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander livnf . 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death ; 
Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, 
A.nd to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? 

Bea:. I answer to that name ; [UnmashinQ 

What is your will ? 

Bene. Do not you love m.e ? 

Beat. No, no more than reason. 



^9 SHAKSPEAKIAN HEADER. 

Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Cjaiidio, 
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 

Beat. Dc not you love me ? 

Bene. No, no more than reason. 

Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margajet, and Ursula, 
Are much deceiv'd ; for they swear, you did. 

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. 

Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not love me ? 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. 

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her : 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another, 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against our hearts !-• 
Comej I will have thee ; but, by this hght, I take thee for pity. 

Bea!. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good day, I yield upon 
great persuasion ; and, partly, to save your life, for 1 was told yon 
were in a consumption. 

Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married m.an ? 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-crackers cannol 
ilout me out of my humor : Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an 
epigram ? No : if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear 
nothing handsome about him : In brief, since I do propose to marry, 
I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it ; 
and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it ; for 
man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. — For thy part, Clau- 
dio, I did tliink to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art Hke to bo 
my kinsman, Hve unbruised, and love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that 
I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a 
double dealer ; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do 
not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends : — let's have a dance ere we 
are married, that we may hghten our own hearts, and our wive.s' 
heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 

Bene. First, o' my word ; therefore, play music. — Prince, thou art 
sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a wife. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise thee brave 
punishments for him. — Strike up, pipers. [Dance. ExeuiJt 



MACBETH. 



"The traditionary story of Macbeth, on which this Drama it ''iSCDded, « relatad by 
Eollinshed, in his Chronicles, and also by George Buchanan ia Ins liatiu " History of 
Scotland. " 

Shakspeare is supposed to have availed himself of Hollinshed's narrative in the con- 
*truclion of this Play, as the incidents introduced by the Poet, are precisely those narratcc' 
oy the chronicler. The supernatural agency exercised by the Witches, may appecr iu 
this enlightened age, to be beyond the bounds of credibility, but it should be renienihered 
tJiat in Shakspeare's time, the belief in witchcraft was universal. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duncan, King of Scotland. 

Malcolm, Donalbain, his sons. 

Macbeth, Banquo, generals of the. King's army. 

Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, Menteth, Angus, Cat'iness, noblemen 

0/ Scotland. 
Fleance, son to Banquo. 

SiWARD, Earl 0/ Northumberland, general of <//e English fcrces. 
Young SiWARD, his son. 
Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
Son to Macduff. 

.An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 
Lady Macbeth. 
Lady Macduff. 

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
Hecate, and three Witches. 

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attrndantd. 
and Messengers. 
The Ghost 0/ Banquo, and several other apparitions. 

^CENE, — 171 the end of the Fourth Act, lies in England ; through the 
rest of the Play, in Scotland ; and, chiefly, at Macbeth's Castle. 



30 SHAKSPEARIAN READLR. 

^ ^/ACT i; //^^j 

SCENE I. — An open Place. Thunder and Lightning. 
Enter three Witches. 

1 St Witch. When shall we three meet again, 
la thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 

^nd Witch. When the hurlyburly's done, 
When the battle's lost and won : 

3rd Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 

\st Witch. Where the place ? 

271^ Witch. Upon the heath : 

3rd Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 

1st Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 

All. Paddock calls : — Anon. — 
Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
Hover through the fog and/lthy air. [Witches vanish 



-^^/T^c^i- ^. < '■ SCENE n.— ^ ' Oaihp^nearYores/maHm \ml&C ^-^ ' 

Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, with Atteiidj.nts 

meeting a bleeding Soldier. \ 

Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report, ! 

As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt ' 

The newest state. ! 

Mai. This is the sergeant, f 

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought ? 

'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend ! 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, 
Vs thou didst leave it. 

Sol. Doubtfully it stood ; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
(Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that. 
The multiplying villanies of nature 
Do swarm upon him.) from the western isles 
Of Kernes and Gallovvglasses is supplied ; 
But all's too weak : 

For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that nnmc,) 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
liike valor's minion, 

Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ; 
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps. 
And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 

Dni. O, valiant co'isin ! worthy gentleman ' 



MACBETH. 81 

Sot. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ; 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark. 
No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, 
Compell'd these skippmg kernes to trust their heels : 
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, 
Began a fresh assault. 

Dun. Dismay'd not this 

Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 

Sol Yes ; 

As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion. 
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounde ; 
They smack of honor both • — Go, get him surgeons. 

/ ^ [Exit So\diF-r,a/ tended, 

— v/' ■'' Enter Rgss^. 

Who comes' here ? ^« •>• ' ^AM-^'^^V 

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So should he lock, 
That seems to speak things strange. 

Rosse. God save the king ! 

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? 

Rosse. From Fife, great .uug, 

Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, 
And fan our people cold. 
Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 
The thane of Cawdor, *gan a dismal conflict : 
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd m proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons. 
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 
Curbing his lavish spirit : And, to conclude. 
The victory fell on us ; , ' ' . 

Dun. Great happiness ! 

Rosse. That now 
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men. 
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch. 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that tliane of Cawdor shall deceive 
Our bosom interest. — Go, pronounce his present death, 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Rosse. Fil see it done. 

Dun. What be hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won, ExeuTvl 



62 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE 111.— A Heath. Thunder 
Enter the three Witches. 

1 s^ Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 

2nd Witch. Killing swine. 

3rd Witch. Sister, where thou ? 

Is^ Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd ; — Give me, quoth I' 
Aroint thee, ivitch ! the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
Ilei husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : 
But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
And, Hke a rat without a tail, 
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 

2nd Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 

\st Witch. Thou art kind. 

Zrd Witch. And I another. 

\st Witch. I myself have all the other • 
And the very ports they blow. 
All the quarters that they know 
rthe shipman's card. 
I will drain him dry as hay : 
Sleep shall, neither night nor day, 
Hang upon his pent-house Hd ; 
He shall live a man forbid : 
Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, 
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
Though this bark cannot be lost. 
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
Look what I have. 

'ind Witch. Show me, show me. 

\st Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, 
Wreck'd as homeward he did come. {^Drum withm 

3rd Witch. A drum, a drum : 
Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
Posters of the sea and land, 
Thus do go about, about ; 
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine 
And thrice again, to make up nine : 
Peace ! — ^the charm's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth aiid Banquo. 

Macb. S^ full and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ? — What are these, 
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; 
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
A.nd yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
Fhf man may question ? Ycu seem to understand me, 



MA IBETH. 83 

By each at once her choppy finger laying 

Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, 

And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 7 ;,, 

That you are so. 

" Mad). Speak, if you can ; — What are you ? 

\st Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! 

2?i(Z Witch. All hail, Macbetli ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor 

Zrd Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king hereafter 

Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem to fear 
Things that do sound so fair ? — I' the name of truth. 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner 
You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
Of noble having, and of royal hope. 
That he seems wrapt withal ; to me you speak not : 
If you can look into the seeds of time. 
And say, which grain will grow, ai]d which will not ; 
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, 
Your favors, nor your hate. 

Is^ Witch. Hail ! 

^nd Witch. Hail i 

^rd Wiich. Hail ! 

1st Wiich. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

2nd Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 

drd Witch. Thy children shall be kings, though thou be nc tie : 
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 

1st Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! 

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis ; 
But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be lung. 
Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence . 

You owe this strange intelligence ? or why ^ > 

Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge you. 

[Witches vanhh 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd ? 

Mach. Into the air : and what seem'd corporal, melted 
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid ! 

Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about ? 
Or have we eaten of the insane root. 
That takes the reason prisoner ? 

Mach, Your children shall be kings. 

Ban. Yuu shall be king. 

Mach. And thane of Cawdor, too ; went it not so ? 

Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here ? 
5 



84 , SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



Enter Rosse and Ang us. 

Rosse. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, 
The news of thy success : and when he reads 
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
His wonders and his praises do contend, 
Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that. 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail, 
Came post with post ; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent. 

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 

Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater lionor, 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
For it is thine. 

Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 

Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives ; Why do you du.ik 
In borrowed robes ? 

Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; 

But under heavy judgment bears that life 
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel 
With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both 
He labor'd in his country's wreck, I know not 
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. '- Glamis, and thane of Cavd-j? 

The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains.— 
Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor te niii 
Promis'd ncj, less to them ? 

Ban. That, trusted home 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strangt 
And oftentimes to win us to our harm, 
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
In. deepest consequences. — 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Macb. Two truths are told, 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen.-. 
This supernatural soliciting 



MACBfiTH. 



a"? 



Cannot be iFi ; cannot ^ gcod : — If ill, 
Why hath it gi ven mo earnest of success, 
Commencing hi a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : 
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
Whose horrid i.nage doth unfix my hair, 
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
Are less than horrible imaginings : 
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
Is smother'din surmise ; and nothing is, 
But what is not. 

Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown jic 
Without my stir. 

Ban. New honors come upon him 

Like our strange garments ; cleave nol to their mould, 
But with the aid of use. 

Macb. Come what come may ; 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

Macb. Give me your favor : — my dull brain was wrought 
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
Are register'd where every day I turn 
The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
Think upon what hath chanc'd ; and, at more time, 
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. ■ Very gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. [E^yunt 

Macbeth goes to Fores to pay liis duty to King Duncan, who confirms him in his title 
of Thane of Cawdor, and as a farther proof of the royal favor, the King announces his 
intention of visiting Macbeth at liis Castle in Inverness. Macbeth leavci tlie King to be 
tne " harbinger" of the monarch's proposed visit. 

The Scene changes to the Castle of Macbeth, and Lady Macbeth enters, reading i 
Letter she has just received from her husband. 

SCENE V. 

Inverness. A Room in Ma.cbeth's CaMe. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter- 

Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; and 1 have learned 

by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. 

When I burned in desire to question them further, they made them' 

selves — air, into which taey vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the 

wonder of it, came missives from the king, ivho all-hailed me, Thane 

of Cawdor ; by ivhich title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and 

'eferred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be \ 



so SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 

7'his have I tliouglit good to deliver thee, my dearest f arti.tr of m^ 
greatness ; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being 
ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, aiui 
farewell. 

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 

What thou art piomis'd : — Yet do I fear thy nature ] 

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 

To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great ; 

Art not without ambition ; but without 

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, 

That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, 

And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'dst have, great G lan^.is. 

That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 

And that which rather thou dost fear to do. 

Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither. 

That 1 may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 

And chastise with the valor of my tongue 

All that impedes thee from the golden round, 

Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 

To have thee cwwn'd withal. What is your tidings ? 

Enter an Attendant. 

Atten. The king comes here to-night. 

Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it ' 

Is not thy master with him ? who, wer't so. 
Would have inform'd for preparation. 

Atten. So please you, it is true ; our thane is coming : 
One of my fellows had the speed of him : 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would take up his message. 

Lady M. Give him tending. 

He brings good news. The raven himself is hoarse, 

[Exit Attendanl 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring ministers, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 
YoQ wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick night. 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
To cry, IL^M, hold ! Great Glamis ' worthy Cawdor ! 



MACBETH. 87 

Ejder Macbeth. 

Greater than both, by tne all-hail hereafter ! 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Mach. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Lady M. And when goes hence "! 

Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 

Lady M. O, never 

Shall sun that morrow see ! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
May read strange matters ; — To beguile the time, 
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. 
Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent fiov/er, 
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
Must be provided for : and you shall put 
This night's great business into my dispatch , 
Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
Give solely sovereign sv/ay and masterdom. 

Mach. We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear . 

To alter favor ever is to fear : 
Leave all the rest to me. [Exeuru 

SCENE Nl.— Thc same. Before the Casile. 

Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 

Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donaleain, Banquo, Lenox, Maccuf? 
RossE, Angus, a?zcZ Attendants. 

Dun. The castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer. 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress, 
No coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where the} 
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air 
Is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Dun. See, see ! our honor'd hostess ! 

The love that follows us, sometimes is our trouble, 
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, 
How you shall bid Heaven yield us fi)r your pains. 
And thank us for your trouble. 



88 SH^KSPEA^IAN READER. 

V liady M. All our semce 

.n every point twi^e done, and then done double, 
Were poor and single business to contend 
Against t?.ose honors deep and broad, wherewith 
Your majesty loads our house : For those of old 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdoi ? 

We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp hint 
To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess, 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in coinpt. 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
Still to return your own. 

Dim. Give me your hand : 

Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly. 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [ExeiuU. 

^ SCENE VII.— TAe same. A Room in ihe Castle. 

llauiboys and torches. Enter, and pass over tli'' stage, a Sewer, anu 
divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. 

Mach. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere Vv-ell 
[t were done quickly : If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here. 
Bat here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases. 
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
To plague the inventor : This evcn-lianded justice 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
To our own lips. He's here in double trust : 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject. 
Strong both against the deed : then, as his host, 
Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, tliis Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off : 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'a 
t^pon the sightless couriers of the air. 



MACBETH. 89 



Shall liOW the horrid deed in every eye, 

That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 

To goad the sides of my intent, but only 

Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, 

And falls on the other. — How now, what news ? 



^ 






Vy ^ / , Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. He has ul most snpp'd ; \Vhyhave you .eftUie chfiniber 

Mach. Hath he ask'd for me ? 

Lady M. Know you not, he has ? 

Mach. We will proceed no further in this business : 
He hath honor'd me of late ; and I have bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would be worn now in their nevv^est gloss, 
Not cast aside so soon. 

Lady M. Was the hope drunk, 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since ? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely ? From this time, 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valor. 
As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that 
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
And live a coward in thine own esteem ; 
Letting I dare not wait upon I would, 
Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 

Macb. Pr'ythee, peace : 

r dare do all that may become a man ; 
t Who dares do more, is none. ^^ .. . : 

Lady AL What beast' was"it then, 

That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
And, to be more than what you were, you would 
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
Does unmake you. 

Macb. If we should fail, • 

Lady M, We fai! ! 

But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him,) Jiis two chamberlains 
Will I w'th wine and wassel so convince^. 
That memory, the warder of the brain. 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt ot reason 
A hmbeck* only • When in swinish sleep. 

* From Alembic, a still. 



90 SHAKSPEARiAN READEX. 

Their GTenched natures lie, as in a death, 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
His spongy officers ; who shall oear the guilt 
Of our great quell ?* 

Macb. Will it not be receiv'd, 

When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers. 
That they have done 't? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar 
Upon his death ? 

Macb. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
Away, and mock tlie time with fairest show : 
False face must hide what the false heart doth know. [ExetiTil 

ACT 11. 

SCENE I.— The same. Court within the Castle. 

Enter Banquo aiid Fleakce, and a Servant with a torch befttn 

them. 

Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 

Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the slock. 

Ban. And she goes down at tw-elve. 

Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword. — There's husbandry in heaven» 
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers ! 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword ; — 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 

Who's there ? 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king's a-bed : 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices : 
This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
In measurele&s content. 

Mad. Being unprepar'd, 

Our will became the servant to defect ; 
Which else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All's v/ell 

• Murdei. 



'^i. 



MACBETH. 9.1 

\ dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
To you they have show'd some truth. 

Mach. I think not ci tiiem ■ 

Vet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
VVould spend it in some words upon that business, 
If you would grant the time. 

Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 

Mach. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis. 
It shall make honor for you. 

Ban. " So I lose none. 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsel'd. 

Mach. Good repose, the while ! 

Ban. Thanks, sir: The like to you ! [Exit Ban 

Mach. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
';;She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Serv 



Is this a dagger, which I see before me. 

The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : 

[ have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind ; a false creation. 

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 

I see thee yet, in form as palpable 

As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; 

And such an instrument I was to use. 

Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, ■ ,' ' , 

Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; \ ■ 

And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, • . . . 

Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : / ^ 

It is the bloody business, which informs y^.' {.! ' 

Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er thd one half world : ^:; 

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse • ""- 

The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 

Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 

Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 

Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace;, 

With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm set earth, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 

Thy very stones prate of my where-about, 

And take the present horror from the time. 

Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives ; 

Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell -mgi 

I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me ; 

Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 

That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exii 



P2 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE IL— The mme. 
Enter Lady MACEiiTH. 

LaJj/ M. That wliich hath made them drunk, hath made me bo". J 
What iiuth q;iench'd them, hath given me fire. — Hark ! Peace ! 
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman. 
Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it : 
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'd their posset; 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

Macb. [ Williin.] — Who's there ?— what, ho ! 
. Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd, 
And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed, 
Confounds us : — Hark ! — I laid their daggers ready, 
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept I had done't. — My husband ' 

Enler Macbeth. 

Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear a noise. 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. 
Did not you speak ? 

Macb. When ? 

Lady M. Now. 

Macb. As I descended ? 

Lady M. Ay. 

Macb. Hark! — 
Who lies i' the second chambei ? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking or, Jm Jiands 

Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murdei- ? 
That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard them : 
But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
Again to sleep. 

Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and, Amen, the othei 
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, 
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen, 
When they did say, God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen ? 
I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 

Macb. Methought. I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! 
Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; 



MACBETH. 93 

iiteep, that knits ap the ravelVd sleave of care, 
The death of each day's life, sore labor's hath, 
Balm of hurt m .nds, great nature's second course. 
Chief noirisher in life's feast. 

Lady M. What do you mean ? 

Mach. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house : 
__ Glamis hath murder'd sleep : and therefore Caivdor 
'cSj Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ..',,,.,,,... 
77V. .-Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
Vou do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water, 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

Mach. I'll go no more : 

! am afraid to tbink what I have done ; 
Look on't again, I dare not. 

Lady 3L Infirm of purpose ! 

Give me the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures ; 'tis the eye of childhood, 
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within 

Mach. Whence is that knocking ? 

How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
Making the green — oiie red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. — [Knock.] — I hear a knocking 
At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber. 
A little water clears us of this deed : 
How easy is it then ? Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking.] — Hark' ! more knockmg . 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. 
And show us to be watchers : — Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Mach. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know myself. [Knock 
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; Ay, 'would thou could'st ! 

[Exeunt 

Enter Macduff, Lenox, and Porter. 
Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
T)iat you do lie so late ? 



94 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Port. "Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. 
Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — 
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 

Enter Macbeth. 

Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 

Macb, Good-morrow, both ! 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 

Macb. Not yet. 

Macd. lie did command me to call timely on him : 
1 have almost slipp'd the hour. 

Macb. ril bring you to him. 

Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
But yet, 'tis one. 

Macb. The labor we delight in, physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 

For 'tis my limited service. [ExU MACinFf 

Len. Goes the king 

From hence to-day ? 

Macb. He does : — he did appoint so. 

Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay, 
Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of death ; 
And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
Of dire cumbustion, and confus'd events. 
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
Clamor'd the livelong night : some say, the earth 
Was feverish, and did shake. 

Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 

Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. O horror ! horror ! horror ! Tongue, nor heart 
Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! 

Macb. Len. What's the matter ? 

Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-piece ! 
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building. 

Macb. What is't you say ? the life ? 

Len. Mean you his majesty ? 

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
Wi a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! — 

[Exeunt Macbeth arid liEKOX 
Ring the alarum-bell : — ^ll^Iurder ! and treason ! 
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Maicolm ! awake! 



MACBETH. 9^ 

Bhake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself ! — up, up, and see 

The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo ! 

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights^ 

To countenance this horror ! [ Bell ^-vis.^ 

Banquo ! Banquo ! 

E7ite]' Banquo. 
Oui royal master's murder'd ! 

Re-enter Macbeth ajid Lenox. 

Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance. 

1 had lived a blessed time ; for, from this instant 
There's nothing serious in mortality : 

All is but toys : renown, and grace, is dead ; 
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
Is left thivS vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbaih. 

Don. What is amiss ? 

Macb, You are, and do not know 

The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 

Macd. Your royal father 's murder'd. 

Mai. O, by whom ? 

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, 
So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
Upon their pillows : 

They star'd, and were distracted ; no man's life 
Was to be trusted with them. 
' Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
That I did kill them. 

Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 

Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious, 
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man : 
The expedition of my violent love 
Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
Hfs silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore : Who could refrain. 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make his love known ? 

Ban. Fears and scruples shake us . 
In the great hand of Heaven I stand ; and, thence, 
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
Of treasonous malice. 



1)6 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Much. And so do I. 

AIL So all. 

Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, 
And meet i' the hall together. 
'^ All. Well contented. {^Exeunt all hut JNIal. and 1)ok 

Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort with them • 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I ; our separate fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blooj, 
The nearer bloody. 

Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot, 

Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
But shift away : There's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt 



The King's two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, fly to England, and Macbeth is crownea 
king of Scotland ; but fearing the prediction of the witches, that Hanquo's issue should 
be king, he employs " two murderers," to assassinate Banquo and liis son Fleiince. 

The consequences of guilty ambition aie finely portrayed in the following scene. 

ACT III. 

SCENE ll.— The same. Another Room. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 

Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
For a few words. 

Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 

Where our desire is got without content : 
'TIS safer to be that which we destroy, 
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 

How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone. 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making ? 
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died 
With them they think on ? Things without remedy 
Should be without regard : what's done, is done- 

Mach. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it ; 
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 



MACBETH. 07 

But let 

The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer. 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams, 
That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
^' In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave • 
J^j After Hfe's fitful fever^ he sleeps weli ; 
^ I Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poisor 

. Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
^*£y Can touch him further ! 
^V^ Lady M. Come on ; 

'^"' Gentle, my lord, sleek o'er your rugged look's ; 
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 

Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you * 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue : 
Unsafe the while, that we 

Must lave our honors in these flattering streams ; 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 

Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 

Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown 
His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's sumrnons. 
j'be shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
ifeth rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
A deed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What's to be done ? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand. 
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 
iMakes wing to the rooky wood: 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; 
Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : 
So pray thee, go with me. [^Exeur^ 

Banquo and Fleance on their return to the Palace, are ittacked by " ihe mnrderere ' 
Diiiquc is slain, Imt Fleance escapes. 



9'S SIIAKSPEARUN READEil. 

SCENE IV.— A Room of State in the Palace. A BanQw^ 
pirpared. 

Enter JMacleth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and 
Attendants. 

Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down : at first 
And last, the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to yonr majesty. 

Mach. Ourself will mingle with society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time, 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all my friends ; 
For my heart speaks they are welcome. 

Enter first Murderer, to the door. 

Mach. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks :— 
Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i' the midst : 
Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure 
The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 

Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 

Mach. 'Tis better thee v*'ithout, than he within. 
Is he dispatch'd ? 

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. 

Mach. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : Yet he's good, 
That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it. 
Thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scap'd. 

Mach. Then comes my fit again : I had else been perfect ; 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
As broad, and general, as the casing air : 
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ? 

Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
The least a death to nature. 

Mach. Thanks for that : 

There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, 

Hath nature that in time will venom breed. 

No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone : to-morrow 

We'll hear, ourselves again. [Exit RfumorsT 

Lady M. My royal lord, 

Vou do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold. 
That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; 
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony, 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb. Sweet remembrancer !— 



MACBETH , 9S 

Now, good dig-estion wait on appetite, 
And liealth on both ! 

hen. May it please your highness sit ? 

[The Ghost o/Banquo rises, and siis in Macbeth's phu-e. 

Mad. Here had we now our country's honor roof d, 
VVeie the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
Than pity for mischance ! 

Rosse. His absence, sir, 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it youi highnes«> 
To grace us with your royal company ? 

Macb. The table's full. 

Lcn. Here's a place reserv'd, sir 

Macb. Where? 

Len. Here, my lord. What is't that moves your highness ? 

Macb. Which of you have done this ? 

Lords. What, my good lord 1 

Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
f hy gory locks at me. 

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 

Ladij M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus, 
And hath been from his youth : — 'pray you, keep seat ; 
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
He will again be well ; If much you note him, 
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man ? 

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
Which might appal the devil. 

Lady M. O proper stuff! 

This is the very painting of your fear : 
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
(Impostors to true fear) would well become 
A w^oman's story, at a winter's fire, 
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 
Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done, 
You look but on a stool. 

Macb. Pr'ythee, see there ! behold ! look ! lo ! how '-ay you ? 
Why, wliat care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
Those that we bury, back, our monuments 

Sliall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears 

Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? 

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, 
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; 
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
Too terrible for the ear : the tunes have been. 



100 iJHAKiSi'EAKlAN READKK. 

That, when the brains were out, the man would dia, 
And there an end : but now, they rise again, 
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
Than such a murder is. 

Lady M. My worthy lord, 

Your noble friends do lack you. 

Mach. I do forget : — • 

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends • 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to all 
Then I'll sit down : — Give me some wine, fill full : — 
I drink to the general joy of the whole table, iGhoit risfs 

And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
Would he w^ere here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Mach. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth lide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with ! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers. 

But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
The arm'd rhinoceros, oi the Hyrcan tiger, 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again. 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 

The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadov/ ! \_Ghost disappears 
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, 
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting:, 
With most admir'd disorder. 

Macb. Can such things be. 

And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe, 
When now I think you can behold such sights, 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
When mme are blanch'd with fear. 

Rosse. What sights, my lord ? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and worse ; 
Question enrages him : at once, good-night : — 
Stand not upon the order of your going, 
But go at once. 



MACBETH. 101 

Ijf^i. Good-night, and better health 

Attend his majesty ! 

Lady M. A kind good-night to all ! 

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants 

Mach. It will have blood ; they say, blood will have blood : 
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
Angurs, and understood relations, have 
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night ? 

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. 

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his persojt, 
At our great bidding ? 

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 

Mach. I hear it by the way : but I will send : 
There 's not a one of them, but in his house 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
(Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters: 
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good, 
All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. 

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 

Macb. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and self-abuse 
Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : — 
We are yet but young in deed. [Exani 

SCENE Y.—The Ileaih. Thunder. 
Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 

1st Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you lock angerly, 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy, and over-bold ? How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
In riddles, and affairs of death ; 
And I, the mistress of your charms, 
The close contriver of all harms, 
Was never call'd to bear my part. 
Or show the glory of our art ? 
And, which is worse, all you have done. 
Hath been -but for a wayward son. 
Spiteful and wrathful ; who, as others do, 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now : Get you gone, 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning ; thither he 
Will come to knov/ his destiny. 



102 SHAESl'EARIA^' READE3 

Your ve^.stils, and /cur spells, provide, 

Vour charms, and every thing bes'de : 

I am for the air ; this night I'll spend 

Unto a dismal-fatal end. 

Great business must be wrought ere noon * 

Upon the corner of the moon 

There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 

I'll catch it ere it come to ground : 

And that, distill'd by magic slights, 

Shall raise such artificial sprignts, 

\s, by the strengih of their illusion, 

Shall draw him on to his confusion ; 

He shall spurn faith, scorn death, and bear 

His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear • 

And you all know, security 

Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 

Song. [Wilhin.] Come away, come 2icay, &c. 
Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see, 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. ^Exit 

\st Witch. Come, let's make haste: she'll soon be back again. 

\_Exeura, 

Macbeth seeks the " weird sisters" or witches, at " the Pit of Acheron," and adjurar 
them to 'eclare his fate. The witclies, by their incantations, raise up spirits who warii 
Macbeth, to " Beware Macduff." He is then assured that 

"none of woman born shall harm IMacbeth," 

iind that 

" Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him." 

He is ?lso shown a line of Eight Kings, who are the issue of Banquo. 

MacLeth, acting upon the caution of the witches, surprises the Castle of Macduff, ai^'J 
puts to the sword Lady Macduff, and all her children ; Macduff being absent in England 
on a visi. to young Malcolm. 

F^CENE III.— England. A Room in the King's Palace, 
Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 

Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather 

Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men. 
Bestrlue our down-fall'n birthdom : Each new morn, 
New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
Strike /leaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
Like sillable of dolor. 

Mat. Wliat I believe, I'll wail ; 

What know, believe ; and, what I can redress, 
^s I shall find the time to friend I will 



MACBETH. 103 

What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 

This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 

Was once thought honest ; you have lov'd him well ; 

He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but something 

You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom 

To offer up a weak, poor innocent lamb, 

To appease an angry god. 

Macd. I am not treacherous. 

Mai. But Macbeth is. 

A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon ; 
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : 
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, 
Yet grace must still look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my doubts. 
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) 
Without leave-taking ? — I pray you 
Let not my jealousies be your dishonors. 
But mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just, 
Whatever I shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure. 
For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy v/rongi?, 
Thy title is affeer'd.* — Fare thee well, lord : 
I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp. 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mai. Be not offended : 

[ speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, 
There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
Of goodly thousands : But, for all this. 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
yhall have more vices than it had before ; 
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. What should he be ? 

Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted. 
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor stats 

* Confirmed. 



104 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 

VVitii my confine! ess harms. Nay, had I power, \ shoul<i 

Uproar the miiversal peace, confound 

All unity on earth. 

jMacd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 

Alal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
r am as I have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern ! 

No, not to live. — O nation miserable, 
With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd, 
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again ? 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd. 
And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king : the queen that bore thee, 
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, 
Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well ! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself, 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breas^t, 
Thy hope ends here ! 

MaL Macduff, this noble passioa, 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honor. Heaven above 
Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and , 
Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
For strangers to my nature : What I am truly, 
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command : 
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
Old Si ward, with ten thousand warlike men. 
All ready at a point, was setting forth : 
Now we'll together ; And the chance, of goodness. 
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ? 

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at on«7, 
'Tis hard to reconcile. 

Enter Rosse. 

Macd. See, who comes here ? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know him now : Good Heaven, betimes remc, 8 
The means that make us strangers ! 

Rosse. Sir, Amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Rosse. Alas, pooi country ,' 

Almost afraid to know itself ! It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing, 
But who knov.-s nothincf, is once seen to smile ; 



xflACBETH. 1 05 

Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks tl.at rent the air, 

Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seema 

A modern ecstasy ; the dead man's knell 

Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 

Expire before the flowers in their caps, 

Dying, or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation, 

Too nice, and yet too true ! 

Mai. What is the newest grief? 

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ; 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife ? 

Rosse. Why, well, 

Macd. And all ray children ? 

Rosse. Well too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 

Rosse. No ; they A^ere well at peace, when I did leave tlvem. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes it ? 

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor 
Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
Which was- to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be it their comfort, 

We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men : 
An older, and a better soldier, none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Rosse. 'Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like ! But I have words. 
That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern tliey ? 

The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief, 
Due to some single breast ? 

Rosse. No mind, that's honest, 

But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

Macd. If it be mine. 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, 
IVhich shall possess them with the heaviest sounc, 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Humph ! 1 guess at it. 

Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd ; your wife, and babes. 
Savagely slaughtcr'd : to relate the manner, 



106 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Wore, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, 
To adu the death of you. 

Mai. Merciful heaven ! — 

What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
Give sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, 
Whispors the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macd. My children too ? 

Ros°e. Wife, children, servants, & 

That could be found. 

Mard. And I must be from thence ! 

My wife kill'd too ? 

Ros'ie. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted : 

Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, 
To cUiC this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ? 
Did ycu say, all? All? 
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam. 
At onrf /ell swoop ? 

Mai Dispute it Uke a man. 

Ma. d. I shall do so ; 

But I must feel it as a man : 
I cannot but remember such things were, 
That \/ere most precious to me. — Did heaven look on, 
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
They A^ere all struck for thee ! naught that I am. 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
Fell daughter on their souls : Heaven rest them now ! 

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief 
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
And braggart with my tongue ! — But gentle heaven. 
Cut short all intermission ; front to front. 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
Heaven forgive him too ! 

Mai. This tune goes manly. 

Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready; 
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may ; 
The night is long, that never finds the day. [ Exei.nf 



ACT V. 

The action changes to Dunsinane, where the English powers, led on by Yonn| 
Malcohn, Siward, and Macduff, are joined by the loyal Scotch. The united forcet 
march towards Dunsinane Castle to attack Macbeth. 



MACBETH. 107 

SCENE III.— Dunsinane. A Room tn the Castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 

Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all 
lill Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
i cannot taint with fear. Tiien fly, false thanes, 
And mingle with the English epicures : 
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear 

Enter a Servant. 

Thou cream-fac'd loon. 

Where got'st thou that goose look ? 

Serv. There is ten thousand 

Mach. Geese, villain ? 

Serv. Soldiers, sir. 

Mach. What soldiers, patch ? 
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 

Serv. The EngUsh force, so please you. 

Mach. Take thy face hence. — Seyton ! — I am sick at heart 
When 1 behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push 
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
I have Uv'd long enough : my way of life 
Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf : 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 

Seyton I 

Enter Seyton. 

Spy. What is your gracious pleasure ? 

Mach. What news more 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 

Mach. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd 
Give me my armor. 

Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 

Mach. I'll put it on. 
Send out more horses, skirr the country round ; 
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give nr.e mine armor, — 
How does your patient, doctor ? 

Doct. Not so sick, my lo 

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
That keep her from her rest. 

Mach. Cure her of that : 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
E'iuck from the memory a rooted soi*ro\'' ; 



lOS SHAKSPEARllN READER. 

Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
Cleanse the stufF'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
Which weighs upon the heart ? 

Doct. Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. — 
Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff: — 
Soyton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me : — 
Come, sir, dispatch : — If thou could'st, docttr, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease, 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
That should applaud again. — 
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug. 
Would scour these English hence ? Hearest thou of t'ien> ? 

Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. — 

I will not be afraid of death and bane. 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [ S.iti 

SCENE IV. 

Country near Dunsinane : A Wood in view. 

Enter, with drums and colors, Malcolm, old Siward, and his Son 
Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lekox, Rosse, ujic 
Soldiers, marching. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, 
That chambers will be safe. 

Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siw. What wood is this before us ? 

Msnt. The wood of Birnam 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough. 
And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow 
The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Sold. It shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before't. 

Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 

For v/here there is advantage to be given, 
Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 
And none serve with him but constrained things, 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

Miicd. Let our just censur^R 

Attend the true event, and put we on 
Industrious soldiership. 



MACBETH. 100 

Siw. The time approaches, 

Tliat will with due decison make us know 
What we shall say we have, and what we eve 
Thoughts spec'ilative their unsure hopes relate • 
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 
Towards which, advance the war. [Eoccuni, marching 

SCENE V. — Dunsinane. WiiJibi the Castle. 

Enter, with drums and colors, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers. 

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
The cry is still, Theij come : Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them He, 
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up ; 
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, 
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, 
And beat them backward home. What is that noise ? 

[A cry icitnin, if vimen 

Se7/. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
As life were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ; 
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts. 
Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ? 

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 

Macb. She should have died hereafter ; 
There would have been a time for such a word. — 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player. 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. 
And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing.—— 

Enter a Messenger. 
Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 
I shall report that which I say I saw, 
But know not how to do it. 

Macb. Well, say, sir. 

Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
f he wood began to move. 



no shakspeaRian reader. 

Macb. Liar, and slave ! [Sinking him' 

M3SS. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so ; 

Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 

£ say, a moving grove. 

Macb. If thou speak'st false, 

Upon the next tree shait thou hang alive, 

Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 

[ care not if thou dost for me as much, — 

I pull in resolution ; and begin 

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 

That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood 

Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood 

Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! — 

If this, which he avouches, does appear, 

There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 

I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 

And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. — 

Ring the alarum bell : — Blow wind 1 come, wrack ! * 

At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. 

Macl«th leads his followers' to the 'Battle, which terminates in the defeat of the 
CJpurper who i* siwio by Macduff, and Mulciloi is doalared King cf Sootbnd 



AS YOU LIKE IT 



Shskspetre took the plot of this delightful comedy from a novel called, " Rofu -nds 
«i Enphues' Goldeu Legacy," written by Lodge, who borrowed his materials from at 
•al J English poem, of the age of Chaucer. 

Our Feet has improved upon his model, and has constructed one of the most exiiui 
u>\y finished Pastoral Poems extant in our language. 

The Plot and leading incidents of the Comedy, will be clearly illustrated in tiif 
leksctod scei.js we have given. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

I 
DtJiCE, living in exile. 

Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of his dominions. 
Amiens, Jaques, Lords attending on the Duke in his banishment 
Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 
Charles, his wrestler. 

Oliver, Jaques, Orlando, sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 
Adam, Dennis, servants to Oliver. 
Touchstone, a clown. 
Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. 
CoRiN, SiLVius. shepherds, 

William, a country fellow , in love with Audrey. 
A Person representing Hymen. 

Rosalind, daughter to the banished Duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
Audrey, a country girl. 

Lords belonging to the two Dukes ; Pages, Foresters, and other 
Attendants. 

The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House ; afterwards partly in the 
Usurper's Court and partly in the Forest 0/ Arden. 



112 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 



ACT I. 



SCENE [. — An Orcliard, near Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando, and Adam. 

O rlando. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion loqueathed 
me: By will, but a poor thousand crowns: and, as thou say'st, 
charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : and there be- 
gins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report 
speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me rustically at 
home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept : 
For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs 
not from the stalling of an ox ? His horses are bred better ; for, 
besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their 
manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but I his brother, gain 
nothing under him but growth ; for the which his animals are as 
much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully 
gives me, the something that nature gave me, his countenance seems 
to take from me ; he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place 
of a brother, and, as much as in him Ues, mines my gentility with my 
education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my 
father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this ser- 
vitude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wi.se 
remedy how to avoid it. 

Enter Oliver. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he wdll shake me up. 

OH. Now, sir ! what make you here ? 

Orl. Nothing ; I am not taught to make any thing. 

OIL What mar you then, sir ? 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which Heaven mad^, 
i poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. 

OIL Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught awhile. 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? What 
prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? 

OIL Know you where you are, sir ? 

Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 

OIL Know you before whom, sir ? 

Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know, you are 
my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should 
know me : The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that 
you are the first-born ; but the same tradition takes not away my 
blood; were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my 
father iu me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is 
nearer to his reverence. 

OIL What, boy! 

Orl Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in tliis. 



AS von LIKE IT. 113 

OU. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? 

Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de 
Bois : he was my father ; and he is thrice a villain, that says, such a 
father begot villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not take 
.his hand from thy throat, till this other had pulled out thy tongue 
for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your fiither's remembrances 
be at accord. 

OIL Let me go, I say. 

Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear me. My father 
charged you in his will to give me good education : you have trained 
me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like 
qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no 
?onger endure it : therefore allow me such exercises as may become 
a gentleman, or give me tlie poor allottery my father left me by testa- 
ment ; with that I will go buy my fortunes, 

on. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is spent ? Well, sir, 
get you in : 1 will not long be troubled with you : you shall have 
some part of your will : I pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further ofiend you than becomes me for my good, 

on. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have lost my teeth in 
your service. — Heaven be with my old master ! he would not have 
spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

OU. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physic 
your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. 

Oliver, desirous of ridtling himself of Orlando, seeks the aid of " Charles, the wrestler," 
who is enfjaged to exhibit in a wrestling match, that is to take place before the usu'iiing 
Duke and his court. Charles, instigated by Oliver, agrees to challenge Orlando to try 
' a fall witli him," wlien by superior skill he hopes to overcome and kill him. In this he is 
frustrated by the agility and strength of Orlando, who obtains the victory. 

Rosalind the daughter of the exiled Duke, is at her Uncle's court, and accompanied 
by Celia her cousin, they witness the wrestling match. Rosalind is struck by the grace 
and courage exhibited by Orkndo— and learning that he is the son of one of her Fathei's 
oldest friends, her interest in the young man is increased ; she rewards Orlando, with a 
gold chain, and a mntun.] fcclinff of regard is excited in both their hearts. 

Celia watches the growing love of Rosalind, and sportively accuses her with falling in 
love " on such a sudden:" their conversation is interrupted by Duke Frederick, who has 
become jealous of Rosalind, and banishes her from his court. 

Enter Celia, and Rosalikd. 

Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have mercy ; — Not a 
word ? 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, 
Uirow some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one should 
6e lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. 

Cel, But is all this for vour father ? 



114 SHAKSPrARlAlS READEii. 

Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O. how full of briers u 
tliis working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday 
'bolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very coats will 
catch them. 

Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my heart. 

Cel. Hena tliem away. 

Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have him. 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with* thy affections. 

Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. 

Cel. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so 
fetrong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ? 

Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly 1 
By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father liated his father 
dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. 

Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I Hot ? doth he not deserve well ? 

Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love him, because I 
do : Look, here comes the duke. 

Cel. With his eyes fuU of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, 
And get you from our court. 

Ros. Me, uncle ? 

Duke F. You, cousin 

Within these ten days if thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

-Ros. I do beseech your grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me . 
If with myself I hold intelligence, 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a thought unborn, 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors • 

ff their purgation did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself ; 
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor : 
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. 

Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom ; 
So was I, when your highness banish'd him : 
Treason is not inherited, my lord : 
Or, if we did derive it from our friends. 



AS Y(XJ LIKE IT. 115 

Wliat's that to me ? my father was no traitor : 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, 
To think my poverty is treacherous. 

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake. 
Else had she with her father rang'd along. 

Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, 
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; 
I Avas too young that time to value her, 
But now I know her ; if she be a traitor, 
Why, so am I : we still have slept together ; 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ; 
And wheresoe'er we went, Uke Juno's swans, 
Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 

Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her smoothness, 
Her very silence, and her patience. 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
'^nd thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, 
When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege ; 
I cannot live out of her company. 

Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide yourself ; 
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honor. 
And in the greatness of my word, you die. 

[Exeunt Duke Frederick, ml Lords 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind : whither wilt thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
f charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 

Ros. I have more cause. 

Cel. Thou hast not, cousin, 

Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke 
Hath banish'd me his daughter ? 

Ros. That he hath not. 

Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the Iovp 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 
No ; let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me, n«w we may fly, 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
And do not seek to take your charge upon you, 
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ] 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 

Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 

Cel. To see.* my uncls, 

Ros, Alas, what danger v/ill it be to us, 



116 SHAKSPEARIAN EEADEK, 

Maids as we ar ?, lo travel forth so far ? 
Beauty provi/kcth thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire. 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you ; so shall we pass along, 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A boar-spear in my hand ; and (in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will.' 
We'll have a swashing and a martial outside ; 
As many other mannish cowards have, 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man ? 

Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own pag9» 
And therefore, look you, call m.e, Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd ? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 

Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away, 
And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight : Now go we in content, 
To hberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt 

The action now begins in the Forest of Arden, where the exila i?»ke and hi 
followers have found refuge. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I.— The Forest 0/ Arden. 

Erder Duke Senior^ Amiens, and other Lords, in th dress rf 
Foresters. 
Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made this Ufe more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference ; as the icy fang, 
And churli sh chiding of the winter's wind ; 
Which, w':en it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even tiU I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 



AS YOU LIKE IT. n 7 

iTiis is no flattery : these are coimsellors 

That feelingly persuade me what I am. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 

VVhich, hke the toad, ngly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 

And this our life, exempt from public haunt. 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 

Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace 
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 

Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
And yel it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

1st Lord. Indeed, my iordj 

The melancholy Jacques grieves at that ; 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day, m.y lord of Amiens, and myself, 
Did steal bdiind him, as he lay along. 
Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt. 
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, 
Much marked of the melancholy Jacques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook. 
Augmenting it with tears, 

Duke S. But what said Jacques ^ 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

1st Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 
Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak^st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that ivhich had too much : Then being alone, 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; 
Tis right, quoth he ; this misenj doth paH 
The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd, 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. 
And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jacques, 
Siveep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 
Tis just th^ fashion : Wherefore do you look 



lis SKAKSrEARIAN READER. 

Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? 
Thus most invectivcly he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court, 
Yea, and of this our Ufe : swearing that we 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, 
To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
In their assign'd and native dwelling place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this contemplation ? 

2nd Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke S. Show me the place ; 

I love to cope him in these sullen lits, 
For then he's full of matter. 

2nd Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [E.xcunt 

Oliver, foiled in his scheme to destroy Orlando at the wrestling-mat th, plots oAa 
means "to cut his brother off." Adam learns his intentions, and the fa.ihful oil pona 
reveals thera to Orlando. 

SCENE m.— Before Oliver's House. 
Enter Orlanix) and Adam, meeting. 

Orl. Wiio's there ? 

Adam. What ! my young master ? — (), my gentle lister, 
O, my sweet master, O you memory 
Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love yov' '^ 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant '? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
Their graces seiTe them but as enemies ? 
No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orl. Why, what's the matter ? 

Adam. O unhappj youtb 

Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
Your brother — (no, no brother; yet the son — 
Yet not the son ; I will not call him son — 
Of him I was about to call his father.) — 
Hath heard your praises ; and this night he msana 
To burn the lodging where you used to lie, 
And you within it : if he fail of that. 
He will have otner means to cut you ofT; 
I overheard him, and his cractices. 



AS YOU LIKE IT, 1 I'J 

This is no place, this house is but a Imtchorr I 
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 

Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou hav/? me go ? 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

Qy-l. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my foo<^ ' 
Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
A thievish living on the common road ? 
This I must do, oi know not what to dc : 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so ; I have five hundred cro'vus. 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse. 
When service should in my old limbs he lame, 
And unregarded age in corners thrown ; 
Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
All this I give you : Let me be your servant ; 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility ; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter. 
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
The constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee, 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry : 
But come thy ways, we'll go along together ; 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
We'll light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee. 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
From seventeen years till now almost fcurscoro 
Here lived I, but now Uve here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore, it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. 
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor, [ExevTO. 



i2£ SHAKSrEARIAN READER. 



SCENE lY.— The Forest o/Arden. 

Enter Rosalind in hoifs clothes, Celia drest like a Shepherdess, and 
Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and 
to cr}' like a woman : but I must comfort the weakei vessel, a? 
doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat . *^here- 
/bre, courage, good Aliena. 

Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you : 
yet I should bear no cross, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have 
iio money in your purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool I ; when I waa 
at home, I was in a better place ; but travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone : — Look you, who comes here ; 
a young nian, and an old, in solemn talk. 

Enter Corin, and Silvius. 

Cor. That is vhe way to make her scorn you still. 

Sil. O Corin, that thcu knew'st how 1 do love hpr ' 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 

8il. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess ; 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a love*- 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
(As sure I think did never man love so,) 
How many actions most ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily 
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not lov'd : 
O, if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
Wearjang thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thou hast not lov'd : 
Or, if thou hast not broke from company, 
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 
Thou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit Silvius, 

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of tliy wound, 

I ha^e oy hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine : We, that are true lovers, run into strange 
capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love morta. 

II folly. 

Ros. Thcu speak'st wiser, tnan thou art 'ware of. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 121 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I .rriaK 
ny shins against it. 

Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
Is much upon thy fashion. 

Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale witli me. 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, 
f he for gokl will give us any food ; 
faint almost to deatli. 

Touch. Holla : you, clown ! 

Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman 

Cor. Who calls ? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they veiy wretched. 

Ros. ■ Peace. I say : 

L 'od even to you, Inend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

^os. I pr'ytliee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, 
Ca\i in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
And faints for succor. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. 

And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
But I am shepherd to another man, 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ; 
My master is of churlish disposition. 
And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of ked, 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on ; but what is, come see. 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture ? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhiio, 
That little cares for buying any tiling. 

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock. 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this place, 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold : 
ao with me ; if you like, upon report. 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faitih ul feeder be, 
iind buy it with youi ,iold right suddenly. [Exeu^U 



122 SiIAKSrEARIAN READER. 

SCENE Y.— Another part of tJie Forest. A Table set nnji. 
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Lords, and others. 
Duke S. I think he be transform 'd into a beast 
For I can no where find him hke a man. 

1st Lord. My .'ord, he is but even now n-ono hence ; 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — 
"jro, seek him ; tell him I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 

1 St Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. 

Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is tliis 
That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
What ! you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ; — a miserable world I — 

As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun. 

And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 

Good-morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 

Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : 

And then he drew a dial from his poke : 

And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely. It is ten o'clock : 

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the icorld wag« , 

' Tis hut an hour ago, since it was nine ; 

And after an hour more, hicill he eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. 

And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time. 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 

That fools should be so deep contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission, 

An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 

A worthy fool ! Motley's the only w^ear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been a cou?w3T, 
And say, if ladies be but young, and fair. 
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, — 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms : — O, that I were a tool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 1*23 

Jaq. It is my only euit ; 

Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a cliarter as tlie wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
And they that are most galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they «"> ? 
The wliy is plain as way to parish church : 
He, tliat a fool doth very wisely liit. 
Doth very foolishly, although he smart. 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not. 
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
Even by tlie squandering glan^ss of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley ; givo me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

Diike S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou would'st do. 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a hbertine. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. 
That can therein tax any private party ? 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
Till that the very very means do ebb ? 
What woman in the city do I name, 
When that I say. The city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? 
Or what is he of basest function, 
That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ! 
There then : How, what then ? Let me see wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. 
Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free. 
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ? 

Enter Orlando, iviih Ids sword drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. W^hy, I have eat none yet 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Ditke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress ; 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point 



i5J4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred, 
And know some nurture : But forbear, I say : 
He dies that touches any of this fruit, 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
I must die. 

Duke S. What would you have ? Vour gentleness shall forvi 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to out table 

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you. 
I thought, that all things had been savage here ; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment ; But wnate'er you are, 
That in this desert inaccessible. 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
If ever been where bells have knolFd to church ; 
If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, 
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ; 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ; 
And sat at good men's feasts : and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness. 
And take upon command what help we have. 
That to your wanting may be ministred. 

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn. 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd, — 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger,— 
[ will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out. 

And we v/ill nothing waste till you return. 

Oj-I. I thank ye ; and be-bless'd for your good comfort ! [Ecu 

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy ; 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world's a stagn. 

/ind all the men and w^om.en merely players : 
They have their exits, and their entrances ; 



AS YOV LIKE IT. l!if» 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

I lis acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 

Mewhng and puking in tlie nurse's arms. 

And then, the wliining school-boy, with his satchel. 

And shining morning face, creeping like snail 

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier. 

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, 

In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 

Full of wise saws and modern instances, 

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts* 

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon. 

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history. 

Is second childishness, and mere obhvion ; 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 

Re-enter Orlando, loitli Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burceo, 
And let him feed. 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need ; 
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you 
As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
Gi"e us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

Amiens sings. 

SONG. 

I., Blow, Mow, thou winter wbid, 
Thou art not so unkind 

As man^s ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen. 
Although thy breath be rude, 
ffeigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : 
Most friendship is feigning, most lovhig merefoll^ 
Tlien, heigh, ho, the holly ! 
This life is mMSt jolly. 



126 SHAKSPEARIAPi LEADER. 

II. Freeze, freeze, thou hitter sky^ 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remembered not. 
Height hj ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c. 

Du\e S. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,— 
As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were ; 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke, 
That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man ; 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is ; 
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt. 

Dnke Frederick on discovering the flight of his daughter and Rosalind, sosjiects th»' 
Orlando has aided them. He sends for Oliver, and commands him to seek the fugitive*. 
Orlando remains in the forest under the protection of the banished Duke. 

ACT III. 

The Forest. 
Enter Orlando, with a paper. 

(Jrl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 

And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey 
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spliere above, 

Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ; 
That every eye, which in this forest looks. 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree. 
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [E::it. 

Enter Corin, and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone ? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, m respect of itself, it is a good life ; but 
hi respect that it is a shepher i's life, it is naught. In respect that ii 
18 solitary, I like it very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a 
very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well ; 
but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare 
life, look you, it fits my humor well ; but as there is no more plenty 
In it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in 
. See, shepherd ? 

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 1 2T 

tt ease he is ; and tliat he that wants money, means, and content, is 
without three good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, and 
fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat sheep ; and that a great 
cause of the niglit, is lack of the sun : That he, that liath learned no 
wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a 
very dull kindred. 

Touch. ISuch a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court 
bI rpherd ? 

Cor. No, sir, I am a true laborer ; I earn that I eat, get that i 
«ear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad cf ether 
Dion's good, content with my harm : and the greatest of ray pride is, 
to see my ewes graze, and my lambs feed. Here comes youix*; 
master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. 

F.nter Rosalind, reading a paper. 
Ros. From the east to loestern Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures, fairest lin^d. 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept in mind. 
But the fair of Rosalind. 

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together ; dinners, and sup. 
pers, and sleeping hours excepted : it is the right butter woman's 
rank to market. 

Ros. Out, fool ! 

Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind, 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If tlie cat will after kind, 

So, be sure, will Rosalind. 

Winter garments must be lin'd. 

So must slender Rosalird. 

They that reap, must sheaf and birul ; 

Then to cart with Rosaliyid. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you infect yourself 
with them ? 

Ros. Peace, you dull fool : I found them on a Iree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Ros. I'll graft* it with you, and then I shall grafif it with a medlar; 
then it will bn the earliest fruit in the country : for you will be 
rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said : but whether wisely or no, let the foies 
.'udge. 



128 SHAKSPEARIAN REA.DEE. 

Enter Celia, reading a papef 

Ros. Peace 
Here comes ray sister, reading ; stand aside. 
Cel. Why should this desert silent be ? 
For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
Tongues VU hang on every tree. 
That shall civil sayings shoio : 
Some, how brief the life of man 
Runs his erring pilgrimage ; 
That the stretching of a span 
Buckles in his sum of age. 
Some, of violated vows 

' Twixt the souls of friend and friend : 
But upon the fairest boughs, 
Or at every sentence^ end, 
Will I Rosalinda write : 

Teaching aU that read to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Hear en would in little show. 
Therefore heaven nature charged 
That one body should befilVd 
With all graces wide enlarged : 

Nature presently distiWd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart ; 

Cleopatra's majesty ; 
Atalanta's better part ; 

Sad Lucretiah modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised, 
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts 

To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
And I to live and die her slave. 
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love hav« 
you wearied your parishioners withal, and nevei cry'd, Have patience 
good people ! 

Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd go off a little : — Gc 
with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat : though 
pot with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 

{^Exeunt Corin, and Touchstone, 
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? 

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of their 
^ad in them more feet than the verses would bear. 

Cel. That's no matter ; t'le feet might bear the verses, 
Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear tlicmselves 
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. 

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy na'^'e should 
oe hung'd and carved upon these trees ? 



I 



AS ^OU LIKE IT. ril> 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you 
cume ; for look here what I found on a pakn-tree : I was never so 
DC-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which 1 
ran hardly remember. 

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? 

Ros. Is it a man ? 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change 
ycu color ? 

Ros. I pr'ythee, who ? 

Cel. O ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet ; but mountains 
miy be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. 

Ros. Nay, but who is it ? 

Cel. Is it possible ? 

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell 
n-e who it is ? 

Cel. O wonderful,, wonderful, and most wonderful, and yet again 
wonderful, and after that out of all whooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am capari- 
Bon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? One 
inch of delay more is a South-sea-oif discovery. 1 pr'ythee, tell me, 
who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst stammer, 
that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine 
comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or 
none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may 
drink thy tidings. What manner of man ? Is his head worth a hat ? 

Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrestler's hcelsj 
and your heart, both in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, no mocking ; speak sad brovv', and true maid. 

Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando? 

Cel. Orlando. 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and hose ? — • 
Wimt did he when thou saw'st him ? What said he ? How look'd 
he ? Wherein went he ? What makes he here ? Did he ask for 
me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when 
slialt thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first : 'tis a word 
too great for any mouth of this age's size : To say, ay, and no, to 
these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's 
apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled ? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions 
of a lover : — but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a 
good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 

Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such 
fruit. 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 

Cel There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knJght 



130 SHAKSPEARIAN LEADER. 

Ros. Tliough it be pity to see sucli a sight, it well becomes tlic 
ground. 

Cel. Cry, holloa ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee : it curvets very uri' 
reasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. 

Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 

Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : tliou bring'st me 
out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think, I must 
speak. Sweet, say on. 

Enter Orlando, and Jaques. 

Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here ? 

Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 

[Celia and Rosalind retire 

Jnq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as 
lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for 
your society. 

Jaq. Heaven be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. 

Orl. I do desire, we may be better strangers. 

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in 
their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill- 
favoredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? 

Orl. Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was 
christen'd. 

Jaq. What stature is she of ? 

Orl. Just as high as my heart . 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you not been ac- 
quainted with goldsmith's wives, and conn'd them out of rings ? 

Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence 
you hjwe studied your questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I think it is made of Atalanta'a 
necla. Will you sit down with me ? and we two will rail against 
our mistress the world, and all our miser\'. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; agjunst 
whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The most fault you have, is to be in love. 

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am 
Rreary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when T found you. 

Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and you shall sea 
aim. 

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. 

Jaq. I'll tarry n/) longer with you ; farewell, good signior love. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 131 

Orl. 1 am glad of your departure ; adieu, good monsieur melan* 
jholy. \_ExiL Jaques. — Cel. and Ros. come forioard, 

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under tliat 
oabit play the knave with him. — Do you hear, forester ? 

Orl. Very well ; what would you ? 

Ros.. I pray you, what is't a clock ? 

Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's no clock in tho 
ftTest. 

Ros. Then there's no true lover in the forest ; else sighing every 
minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, 
as well as a clock. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not that been as 
proper ? 

Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers paces with divers 
persons : I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, 
who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the con- 
tract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized. 

Orl. Who ambles time withal ? 

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath n-.t 
the gout : for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study ; and 
the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking 
the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other knowing no 
burden of heavy tedious penury : These time ambles withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows : for though he go as softly as 
foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. 

Orl. Who stays it still withal ? 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep between term 
and term, and then they perceive not how time moves. 

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the 
forest. 

Orl. Are you a native of this place ? 

Ros. As the rabbit, that you see dwell where she is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is sometliing fmer than you could purchase m 
so removed a dwelling. 

Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an old religious 
uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland- 
man ; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I 
have heard him read many lectures against it ; and I thank fortune, 
I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as 
a? hatli generally tax'd their whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to 
\ho charge of women ? 

Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like one another, 
fts naJf-pence are : every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow 
fault came to match it. 

r 



132 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

OrJ. I pr'y tho 3, recount some of them. 

Rus. No ; I will not cast away my physic, biit on those that ara 
sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young 
plants with carving Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- 
thorns, ana elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name of 
Rosalind : if 1 could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some 
good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love u])on him. 

Orl. I am he that is bo loVe-shaked ; I pray you, tell me you: 
remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : he taught 
me how to know a man in love ; in which cage of rushes, I am sure 
you are not prisoner. 

Orl. What were his marks ? 

Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye, and sunk- 
en ; which you have not : an unquestionable spirit ; which yon 
have not : a beard neglected ; which you have not : — Then your hose 
should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, 
your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstratir g a careless 
'desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather point-device 
in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover 
of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I w^ould I could make thee believe I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her that you love be 
lieve it; which,.! warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess sh«< 
does ; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie 
to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the 
verses on the trees, wherein Rosahnd is so admired ? 

Orl. I swear to tliee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I ain 
he, that unfortunate he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymios speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. 

Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, deserves as well 
a dark house and a whip, as madmen do ; and the reason .why tliey 
are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that 
the whippers are in lov'3 too : Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 

Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his 
love, his mistress ; and I set him every day to woo me : At which 
time would I, being birt a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, 
changeable, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, in- 
constant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something, 
and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and v/omen are for the 
most part cattle of this color ; would now like him, now loatli him ; 
then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for him., then spit 
at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a liv- 
iRg hum.or of madness ; which was, to forswear the full stream of 
the world, and to hve in a nook m.erely monastic : And tlius I cured 
him ; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean 
us a Found slieep's heart, that 



S \0V LIKE IT. 133 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and 
fome every day to my cote, and woo me. 

Orl Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me whe'-o it is. 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and by the way, you 
shall tell me where in the forest you live : Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, sister, will you 
D-o ? [Exeunt. 

Bosalicd, still in her male attire, wins the lovtf of Pliebe, a rustic beanty, living in thf 
forest, and by her wit and sprigliUiness gains the attention of the Duke and his followeri. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I.— The same. 
Enier Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques 

Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with 
ihee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than lauohmg. 

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fe.- 
.ows ; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than 
drunkards. 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation ; 
nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is 
proud ; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which 
is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all 
these : but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many 
simples, extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry con- 
templation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, 
is a most humorous sadness. 

Ros. A traveller ' By my faith, you have great reason to be sad : 
I fear you have sold your own lands, to see othei men's ; then, to 
Jiave seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
tiands. 

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 

Enter Orlando. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I had rather have a 
fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad ; and \q 
travel for it too. 

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 

Jaq. Nay then. Heaven be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. 

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you lisp, and weai 
elrange suits ; disable all the benefits of your ov*'n countr3r ; be oul 



184 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

of love V, ith your nativity ; or I will scarce think you have swam in « 
gondola. — [Exit Jaques.] — Wl.y, how now, Orkndo I where have 
you been all tliis while ? You a lover ? — An you serve me such an- 
other trick, never come in my sight more. 

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I «ome w'ithin an hour of my promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that will divide a mi- 
nute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth 
part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him hean 
whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight ; I had 
as lief be woo'd of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail ? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he tarries hia 
house on his head ; a better jointure, I think, than you cm make a 
wonuin : Besides, he brings his destiny v/ith him. 

Orl. What's that. 

Rns. Why, horns, 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind is virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a Rosalind of a 
better leer than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now T am in a holiday humor, 
and like enough to consent : — What would you say to me now, an 
I were your very very Rosalind ? 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when you were grav* 
tdled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress ? 

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress. 

Orl. What, of my suit ? 

Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking 
of her. 

Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have you. 

Orl. l^hen, in mine own person, I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor w^orld is almost six 
thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died 
in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains 
dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could to die be- 
fore ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have 
Jved many a fair year, though Hero liad turned nun, if it had not 
been for a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went but forth 
to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was 
ir wned ; and the foolish :;hroniclers of that age found it was — Hera 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 135 

ji Sestos. But these are all lies ; men have died from lime to time, 
ind worms have eaten them, but not for love. 

Oii.- I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, I pro- 
.est, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be 
four Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition ; and ask me v»'ha» 
fou will, I will grant it. 

Oii. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. 

Oii. And wilt thou have me ? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Oii. What say'st thou ? 

Ros. Are you not good ? 

Oii. I hope so. 

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good th_ng ? — Come, 
ester, you shall be the priest, and marry us. — Give me your hand, 
Orlando : — What do you say, sister ? 

Oii. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, Will you, Orlando,^^ 

Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind ? 

Orl. I will. 

Ros. Ay, but when ? 

Oii. W^hy now ; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say, — / lahe thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — I do take thee, 
Orlandc, for my husband : There a girl goes before the priest ; and, 
certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have 
possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a day. 

Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Orlando ; men are 
April when they woo, December when they wed : maids are May 
when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I 
will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary pigeon over his hen ; 
more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than 
an ape ; more giddy in my desires than a monkey : I will weep for 
nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are 
disposed to be merry ; I will laugh Hke a hyen, and that when thou 
art inclined to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : the wiser, the 
waywarder : MaKe the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at 
ine casement ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole : stop that, 
twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney 



136 SIIAKSrEARIAN READER. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might sa}^, — W»f, 
whither wilt ? 

Ros. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you 
take her without her tongue. 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. 

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours, 

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be 
with thee again. 

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew what you would 
prove ; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less ; — that 
flattering tongue of yours won me : 'ti;? but one cast away, and so, — 
come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour ? 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and by all pretty oaths 
that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come 
one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical 
break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of 
her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of 
the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise, 

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosa- 
lind : So, adieu. 

Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, 
and let time try : Adieu ! [Exit Oklando. 

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate ; we 
must have your doublet and hose plucked over yoar head. 

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know 
how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; m} 
affection hath an unknown bottom like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or, rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you pour affection in, 
it runs out. 

Ros. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando 
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 

Cel. And I'll sleep. [ Exenni 

SCENE ill.— The Forest. 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Oliver. 

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you know 
Wiiere, in the purlieus of this forest, stands 
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive trees ? 

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottom, 
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, 
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place : 
But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 
There's none within. 

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue. 
Then I should know you by description ; 
Buch garments, and such years : " The boy is fair ^ 
Of ^eniale favor ^ and bestows himself 



AS YOU LIKE IT- 

like a rtpe sister: but the icoman loic, 

And browner than her brother.''^ Are not you 

The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 

C'el. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. 

OIL Orlando doth commend him to you both : 
And to that youth he calls his Hosalind, 
He sends this bloody napkin : Are you he ? 

Ros. I am : what must we understand by this ? 

OIL Some of my shame : if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkerchief was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

OIL When last the young Orlando parted from you 
fie left a promise to return again 
Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside, 
And, mark, what object did present itself! 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with ag?. 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair. 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, 
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd 
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly 
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
A. lioness 

Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 
When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast. 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 

Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brotf^Fi " 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That liv'd 'mongst men 

OIL And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there, 
Food to the fierce and hungry lioness ? 

OIL Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so, 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the lioness, 
Wrio quickly fell beh.re him ; in which hurtling 
From miserable slumber I awak'd 

Cel. Are you his brother ? 



187 



138 SHAKSFEARIAN EEADEU. 

Ros. Was it you he rescued f 

Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill hina ? 

OH. 'Tvvas 1 ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversi ju 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — 

on. By, and by. 

When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd. 

As, how I came into that desert place ; 

In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 

Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment. 

Committing me unto my brother's love ; 

Who led me instantly unto his cave, 

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 

The lioness had torn some flesh away. 

Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, 

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 

Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 

And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 

He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 

To tell this story, that you might excuse 

His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 

Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 

That ho in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Ganymede ? 

[RosAi.m D fainti 

OH. Many, will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede ! 

Oil. Look, he recovers. 

Ros I would, I were at home. 

Cel. We'll lead you thither :— 
I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

OIL Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ? — You lack a man's 
heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was 
well counterfeited : I pray you, tell your brother how well I counter- 
feited. — Heigh ho ! — 

Cel. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in youi 
complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. 

R.OS. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

Gli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. 

Ros. So I do : but i' faith I should have been a woman by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you, draw homewards: 
—Good sir, go with us. 

OH. Thrt will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, commend mj- 
counterfeiting to him — Will you go ? [Exeunt. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 189 



ACT V. 



The Forest of Arden. 
Orlando, and Olivli^ 

Orl. ls"t possible, that on so little acquaintance you shou'il like 
ftcr ? that, but seeing, you should love her ? and, loving, woo ? andj 
wooing, she should grant ? and will you persever to enjoy her ? 

OlC Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, 
the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor iier sudden consent- 
ing ; but say with me, I love Aliena ; say, with her, that she loves 
me ; consent with both, it shall be to your good ; for my father's 
house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, will I estate 
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. 

Enter Rosalind. 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding he to-morrow : 
thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers : Go 
you, and prepare Aliena : for look you, here comes my Rosalind. 

Ras. Save you, brother. 

OIL And you, fair sister. 

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy 
heart in a scarf. 

Orl. It is my arm. 

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a 
lion. 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Ros, Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, 
when he show'd me your handkerchief? 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : there was never 
any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Csesar's thrasonical 
brag of — I came, saw, and overcame. For your brother and my sister 
no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner looked, but they loved ; 
■flo sooner loved, but they sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked 
•fine another the reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought 
the remedy : and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to 
marriage ; they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together ; 
clubs cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and 1 will bid the duke to 
the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness 
through another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-mor- 
row be at the height of heart-4ieaviness, by how much I shall think 
my brother happy, in having what hg wishes for. 

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind ? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know 
«f rap then, (fc!*. now I speak to some purpose,") that I know you arp 



140 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

A gentleman of g^ood conceit : I speak not this, thai you should beti 
a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, 1 say, 1 know you are ; 
neither do I labor for a greater esteem than may in some little mea- 
sure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace 
me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : 1 
have, since I was three years old, conversed wiih a magician, most 
profound in this art. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as 
your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall 
you marry her : — I know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, 
to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and withoul 
any danger. 

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings ? 

Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, though I say I am 
a magician : Therefore, put you in your best array, bid your friends 
for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, if 
you will. 

Enter Silvius, and Phebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. 

Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentlenecs, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not, if 1 have : it is my study, 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : / 

You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love, 

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman, 

8il. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

OH. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy. 
All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
All adoration, duty, and observance, 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
^nd so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you mc to love you ? 

[To RosjM.rfoi 

Sil. If tL:s be so, why blame you me to love you ? \To P^'lhiI. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. Ul 

Od. If ti.is be so, why blame you me to love you ? 

Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me to love you 1 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish 
wolves against the moon. — I vv^ill help you, [to Silvtus,] if I can : — 
. would love you, [to Phebe,] if I could. — To-morrow meet me all 
together. — I will marry you, [to Phebe,] if ever I marry woman, anc 
I'll be married to-morrow : — I will satisfy you, [to Orlando,] if ever 1 
satisfied man, and you shall be married to morrow : — I will content 
you, [^oXSiLviusJ if what pleases you contents you, and you shall 
be married to-morrow. — As you [to Orlando] love Rosalind, meet ; 
— as you [to Silvius] love Phebe, meet ; And as 1 love no woman, 
I'll meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left you commands. 

Sil ril not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor I. 

Orl Nor I. [ExeurU. 

SCENE lY. ^Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
Can do all this that he hath promised ? 

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not ; 
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd : 

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke 

Vou will bestow her on Orlando here ? 

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. 

Ros. And you say you will have her, when I bring her ? 

[To Orlando 

Orl. That: would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 

Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing ? [To Phf^e, 

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 

Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, 
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ! 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? 

[To Silvius 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing. 

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter ; — 
Vou yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — 
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; 
Ot else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
K tep your word, Silvius, tnat you'll marry her. 
If ehe refuse me : — and from hence I go. 
To make these doubts all even. C ^'xeunl Rcsalind, and Celli 



142 SIIAKSrEARIAN READER. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
Some lively touches of my daughter's favor. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
Methought he was a brother to your daughter : 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ; 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle. 
Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone, and Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couplos are 
coming to the ark ! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which 
in all tongues are called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome ; This is the motley-minded 
gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest : he hath been a 
courtier he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. 
I have trod a measure ; I have flattered a lady ; I have been politic 
with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three' 
tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 

Touch. 'Faith, v/e met, and found the quarrel was upon the 
seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause ? Good my lord, like this fellow. 

Duke S. I like him very well. 

Touch. Sir, I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst 
Ihe rest of the country folks, to swear, and to forswear : according as 
marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored 
thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humor of mine, sir, to take that 
that no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a 
poor-house ; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he is very sv.'ift and sententious. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir. 

Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find the quarrol on 
the seventh cause ? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear your body more 
seeming, Audrey: — as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain 
courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut 
well, he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort courteous. 
If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me 
word, he cut it to please himself: This is called the Quip modest. 
If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This is 
call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would 
answer, I spake not tTue : This is called the Reproof valiant. If 
again, it was not well cut, he would say I lie : This is call'd the 
Countercheck quarrelsome : and so to the Lie r ircumsta.nl ial . and the 
Lie direct. 



Ao YCD LIKE IT. 14S 

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut ? 

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circumstantial, nor he 
durst not give me the Lie direct ; and so we measured swords, and 
parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie ? 

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book : as you have 
books for good manners : I will name you the degrees. The fu'st, 
the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest ; the third, tlie 
Reply churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Coun- 
tercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance ; the 
seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the He direct ; 
and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices 
could not take up a quarrel ; but when the parties were met them- 
selves, one of them thought but of an If, as. If you said so, then 1 
said so ; And they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is 
the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's as good at any thing, 
and yet a fool . 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the 
presentation of that, he shoots his wit. 

Enter Rosalind in womanh clothes ; and Celia. 

Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [ To Duke S. 

To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando. 

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. 

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 

Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
Why then,^my love adieu ! 

Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — [ To Duke S. 

I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando. 

Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebe. 

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome art thou to r le ; 
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 

Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art m.ine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Sii.vrjR 

Enter Jaques de Bois. 
Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or tw:) ; 
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly: — • 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power ; vi^hich were on foot, 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise, ar d from the world : 



i44 SHAKSFEATIIAN READER. 

His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
And ail their lands restor'd to them again 
That were with him exil'd : Tliis to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 

Thou ofter'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding ; 
To one, his lands withheld : and to the other, 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
That here were well begun, and well begot : 
And after, every of this happy number. 
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights Vvith us, 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 
And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
Play, music — and you brides and bridegrooms all. 
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 

Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly • 
The duke hath put on a religious life. 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court ? 

Jaq. de B. He hath. 

Jaq. To him will I : out of tliese convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
You to your former honor I beT^ueath ; [71* Duk^ S 

Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : — 
You [to Oklando] to a love, that your true faith doth merit : — 
You [^0 Oliver] to your land, and love, and great allies : — 
You [to SiLVius] to a long and well deserved bed : — 
And you \to Touchstone] to wrangling ; for thy loving voyage 
Is but for two months victual'd : — So to your pleasures ; 
[ am lor other than for dancing measures. 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no pastime, I : what you would have 
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. ' [Exii. 

Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these rites, 
Aiid we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A ^^anct 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 



' The Plot IS taken from the Hecatomtnithi, ox * Hundred Tales' of Giiddo Cinthi.), 
til Italian novelist and dramatist of the second class, in the sixteenth century." But al- 
though Shakspeare was indebted for the general plan of his plot to the Italian novelist, 
ret many of the characters are entirely of his own creation, and all of them owe to him 
hat individuality which Shakspeare, of all dramatic poets, seems to possess the power of 
.ransfusing into all the personages he introduces into his Dramas. 

Bishop Lowth says of this Play, that — "the passion of jealousy, its causes, progress, 
incidents, and effects, have been more truly, more acutely, more copiously, and more im- 
pressively delineaied, than has been done by all the disquisitions of all the philosopher* 
who have treated on this dark argument." 

But it may well be added, that the beauties of this immortal Drama are so conspicucas 
as to need no aid of critical illustration. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke of Venice. 

BRABANTio,a Senator. 

Two other Senators. 

Gratiano, hroLher to Brabaiuio. 

LoDOVico, kinsman to Brabantio. 

Othello, the Moor : 

Cassio, his lieutenant ; 

Iago, his ancient. 

RoDERiGo, a Venetian Gentleman. 

MoNTANO, Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprua. 

Clown, servant to Othello. Herald. 

Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio, and wife to Othello. 
Emilia, wife to Iago. 

Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, d^c. 

SCENE, — for the First Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the play, at 
a Sea-Fort in Cyprus. 



146 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Othello, a nob'.e Moor, in the service of the States of Venice, has won tlie affectiont 
Df Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio. The lady leaves her father's house, clandes- 
tinely, and is married to the Moor : lago, a seeming friend of Othello, but in reality UU 
" direst foe,"— acquaints Brabantio of Desdemona's flight, and sets the enraged father ii 
pursuit of his daughter and her husband : he then joins the Moor, to avoid susnicion af 
his double dealing. 

ACT I. 

SCENE II.— A Street in Venice. 
Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants 

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men« 
Yet do 1 hold it very stuff o' the conscience, 
To do no contriv'd murder ; I lack iniquity 
Sometimes, to do me service : Nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him liere under the ribs. 

0th. 'Tis better as it is. 

Iago. Nay, but he prateo, 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honor. 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, 
Are you fast married ? for, be sure of this, — 
That the magnifico is much beloved ; 
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential, 
As double as the duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
The law (with all his might to enforce it on,) 
Will give him cable. 

0th. Let him do his spite : 

My serdces, which I have done the signiory, 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know 
(Which, when I know that boasting is an honor, 
I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege ; and my demerits 
May speak, unbonnett^, to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and confine 
For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come yonder ? 

Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers, with linchfi. 

logo. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
You were best go in. 

0th. Not I : I must be found ; 
My parts, my title, and my perfect soul. 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 

Iago. By Janus, I think no. 



% 



OTHELLO. 1 4*7 

Oih. The servants of the duke and my lieutenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
Wliat is the news ? 

Cas. The duke does greet you, general , 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, 
Even on tlie instant. 

Olh. What is the matter, think you ? 

Cas Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; 
It, 13 a business of some heat : the gallies 
riavc sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night, at one another's heels ; 
And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met. 
Are at the duke's already : You have been hotly call'd for; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
Tiie senate hath sent about three several quests, 
To search you out. 

Oih. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

r will but spend a word here in the house, 
And go with you. [Ex^.l 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 

lago. He's married. 

Cas. To whom ? 

• Re-eiiier Othello. 

lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 

Olli. Have »vith you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers nf night. 7vith tomhes ana 
weapons. 

lago. It is Brabantio : — general, be advis'd ; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Oth. Hola ! stand there ! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief! 

[They draw on both side^ 

lago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 

Olh. Keep up you? brig"bi" swords, for the dew wull rust them — 
Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
Than with your weapons. 

Bj-a. O thou foul thief, where hast thou r^tow'd my dauglitei I 
Thou hast enchanted her : 
For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
[f she in chains of magic were not bound, 
Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy , 
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosoia 
Of such a thinf as thou : 



/4H SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms. 
f therefore apprehend and do attach thee, 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 
Subdue him at his peril. 

Oih. Hold your hands. 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
Were it my cue to fight, I would have known it 
Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge ? * 

Bra. To prison : till fit tim 

Of law, and course of direct session, 
Call thee to answer. 

Olh. What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied ; 
Whose messengers are here about my side, 
Upon some present business of the state. 
To bring me to him. 

OJf. 'Tis true, most worthy signior 

The duke's in council ; and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. How, the duke in council ! 

[n this time of the night ! — Bring him away : 
Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself. 
Or any of my brothers of the state 
Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own : 
For i f such actions may have passage free, 
Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. [ExeurJ 

SCENE III.— TJie Same, A Council Cham:er. 

Hie Duke, and Senators, sitiing at a table ; Oflicers attending. 

Duke. There is no composition in these news. 
That gives them credit. 

1st Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; 

My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. 

Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 

2nd Sen. And mine, two hundred 

But though they jump not on a just account, 
' (As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm 
A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
Kave there injointed them wMth an after fleet. 

}<t Sen. Ay, so I thought : — How many, as you guees ? 



OTHELLO. 140 

Mess. Of thirty sail : and now do they re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance 
Their purposes towards Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
With his free duty recommends you thus, 
And prays you to believe him. 
Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus, — 
Isi Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. 

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, ajid Officora. 

Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you 
Against the general enemy Ottoman. 

I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior, [To Brabaniiq 

We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 

Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; 
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general care 
Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature. 
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows. 
And it is still itself. 

Duke. Why, what's the matter ' 

Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 

Sen. Dead ' 

Bra. Aye, to me : 

She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense. 
Sans witchcraft could not 

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding 
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter. 
After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems, 
Your special mandate, for the state affairs, 
Hath hither brought. 

Duke (^ Sen. We are very sorry for it. 

Duke. What, in your own part, can vou say to this ^ 

(To Or .'iEi.Lo 

Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 

0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 
The very head and front of my offending 



[50 SHAKSPEAEIAN READER. 

Hatn this extent no more. Rude am I in my speech. 

And little bless'd with tlie set phrase of peace ; 

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 

Their dearest action in the tented field ; 

And little of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause. 

In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious patience, 

I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 

Of my whole course of love : what drugs, what charms 

What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 

(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 

I won his daughter with. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — 
To fall in love with what she ftar'd to look on ? 
It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
That will confess — perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature. 
I therefore vouch again. 

That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof; Othello, speak ;- 
Did you by indirect and forc'd courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ; 
Or came it by request, and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth? 

Olh. I do beseech you, 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
And let her speak of me before her father : 
If you do find me foul in her report, 
The trust, the office, I do hold of you, 
Not only take away, bat let your sentence 
i^ven fall upon my hfe. 

Diike. Fetch Desdemona hitlier. 

0th. Ancient, conduct them : ycai best know the place. — 

^Exeunt Iago, and Attondaj.U 
And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
1 do confess the vices of my blood. 
So justly to your grave ears I'll present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
And she in mine. 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

Oth. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me j 
Still ']uestionod me the story of my life, 



OTHELLO. 151 

Prom year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 

That I have pass'd. 

[ ran it through, even from my boyish days. 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 

Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly broach ; 

Of being taken by the insolent foe, 

And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 

And portance in my travel's history : 

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild, 

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 

It was ray hint to speak, such was the process ; 

And of the Cannibals that each other eat. 

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 

Do grrw beneath their shoulders. These things to hear, 

Would Desdemona seriously incline : 

But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 

Which ever as she could with haste dispatch. 

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 

Devour up my discourse : Which I observing. 

Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart. 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate. 

Whereof, by parcels she had something heard, 

But not intentively : I did consent ; 

And often did beguile her of her tears. 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done. 

She gave me for my pahis a world of sighs : 

She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing serange 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 

She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 

That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me ; 

And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 

[ should but teach him how to tell my story. 

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake • 

She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 

And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 

This only is the witchcraft I have us'd : 

Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 

Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter too. 
Good Brabantio, 

Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
Than their bare hands. 

Bm. I pray you, hear her speak ; 

If she confess, that she was half the wooer, 



152 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. 

Desliuction on my head, if my bad blame 
Light on the man ' — Come hither, gentle mistresa i 
Do you perceive in all this noble company. 
Where most you :\ve obedience ? 

Des. My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided duty : 
To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
My life, and education, both do learn me 
Mow to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
I am hitherto your daughter : But here's my husband ; 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father, 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor, my lord. 

Bra. Heaven be with you ! — I have done : — 
Come hither, Moor : 

I here do give thee that with all my heart. 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart, 
I would keep from thee. I have done, my lord. 
Proceed to the affairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparat'On ^a'ies for i'y- 
prus : — Othello, the fortitude of the place is best known to you ! you 
must therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fcrtun.=i5 
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

Oih. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, , 

Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity, 
I find in hardness ; and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
With such accommodation, and besort, 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 

Be't at her father's. 

Bra. I'll not have it so. 

Otli. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 

To put my father in impatient thoughts, 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend a prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice, 
I'u ttssist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with hun, 
My downright violence and scorn of fortunes 
May trumpf t to the world : my heart's subdued 



OTHELLO. I^'l 

Even to the very quality of my lord : 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
And to his honors, and his valiant parts, 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate, 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
I shall a heavy interim sjupport 
By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 

0th. Your voices, lords : — 'beseech you, et hei Rill 
Have a free way. 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries — haste. 
And speed must answer it ; you must hence to-night. 

Des. To-night, my lord ? 

Duke. This night. 

Olh. With all my he?irl. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet again. 
Othello, leave some otRccr behind. 
And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
With such things else of quality and respect, 
As doth import you. 

Oili. Please your grace, m.y ancient ; 

A man he is of honesty, and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. — 

Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, [To Be/lbaht.o 

If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

Bra. Look to her, Moor : have a quick eye to see ; 
She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 

[Ecceunt Duke, Senators, Officers, <j-c-. 

Oih. My hfe upon her faith. — Honest lago, 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee ; 
I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. — 
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello, and DESDEr-ioN/i 

ACT II. 

SCENE l.—A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. 

tv.-ednmona, escorted by lago, has proceeded to Cyprus, where slie is ar.xicus.'y av.a^i 
iUg the a-rival of Othello from his victorious expedition ag:\'nst the Ottc mites. C»^ii 
Ifct- Moor's lieutoaacl, has jusl landed at Cyprus. 



154 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Enter Cassio, and Montano. 

Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle 
That so approve the Moor ; O, let the heavens, 
jlive him defence against the elements, 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! 

Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 

Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
){ very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
Stand in bold cure. 

\_Witliin.'\ A sail, a sail, a sail ! 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Cas. What noise ? 

Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy. {Guns heard 
Our friends at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 

Gent. T shall. [Exit 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general v.^iv'd ? 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. 
And in the essential vesture of creation. 
Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has put in ? 
Re-enter Gentleman. 

Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. He has made most favorable and happy speed : 
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, 
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel. 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 

Mon. What is she ? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's captain, 
Left in the conduct of the bold lao-o ; 
O, behold. 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, and Attendants, 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven. 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round ! 

Des. I thank you, valiant ("assio. 

What tidings can vou tell me of mv lord ? 



OTHELLO. 156 

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 

Des. O, but I fear ; — How lost you company ? 

Cas. The great contention of tlie sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship : But, hark ! a sail. 

See for the news. — [ Exit Gentleman. 

Good ancient, you are welcome ; — Welcome, mistress : [To Emh^ia. 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
Tiiat I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me tliis bold show of courtesy. [Kissing her. 

lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her hps. 
As of her tongue she oft bestows on mc, 
Vou'd have enough. 

Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

la^o. In faith, too much ; 
I find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
And chides with thinking. 

Emil. You have little cause to say so. 

Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer ! 

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk. 

Emil. You shall not write my praise. 

lago. No, let me not 

Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'si praise me ! 

lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 
For I am nothing, if not critical. 

Des. Come on, assay ; — There's one gone to the harbor ? 

lago. Ay, madam. 

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how would'st thou praise me ? 

lago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my invention 
Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, 
It plucks out brains and all. 
She that was ever fair, and never proud, 
Had tongue at will , and yet was never loud ; 
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I may. 
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her v^n-ong stay, and her displeasure fly : 
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following, and not look behind, 
She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 

Des. To do what ? 

lago. To nurse young fools, and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! — Do not learn of him, 
Emilia, though he be thy husband. — How say you, Cassio ? is he not 
a most profane and liberal counsellor ? 
8 



156 SHAKSrEARlAiS READER. 

Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him more in the 
Boldier, than in the scholar. 

lacro. [Aside.] He takes her hy the palm : Ay. well said, whis- 
per : with as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly aa 
Cassio. Ay, smile upon him, do ; I will gyve thee in thine own 
courtship. You say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as these 
strip you out of your heutenancy, it had been better you had not 
kissed your three fingers sc oft, which now again you are most apt 
to play the sir in. Very good ; weh kissed ! an excellent courtesy ! 
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips ? — [ Trumpet. ' 
The Moor, I know his trum.pet. 

Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello, and Attenda its 

0th. O my fair warrior ! 

Des. My dear Othello I 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content, 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms, 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ? 
If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear. 
My soul hath her content so absolute. 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid, 

But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Oih. Amen to that, sweet powers I — 

I cannot speak enough of this content, 
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 

And this, and this, the greatest discords be, [Kissbig hef 

That e'er our hearts shall make. 

lago. O, you are vvcU tun d now ! 

But I'll set dov/n the pegs that make this music. 
As honest as I am. \ Asule 

Oih. Gome's, let's to the castle. 

News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. 
How do our old acquaintance of this isle 1 
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet. 

prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good lago, 
Go to the bay, and disembark my colFers : 
Bring thou the master to the cit'.del ; 
He is a frood one, and his worthiness 



OTHELLO. 157 

Docs cnallenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona. 
Once more well met at Cyprus. 

lago now commences his plots against the Moor : his first iriovement is to pLt Otiielk 

" into a jealousy so strong, 

That judgment catiuot cure," 

and Cassin is the instrument he selects for his purpose. Under the plea of " carousing '" to 
•Me. health of the General and his fair wife, he leads Cassio into a drunken brawl, while .ha 
Lieutenant is on guard at the Castie. Othelio enters to learn the cause of the .\u 
Jurbance. 

Othello, Iago, Cassio, Montaxo, and AttCRdanta, 

0th. What is the matter here ? 

Man. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — he dies 

Oth. Hold, for your lives. 

Iago. Hold, hold, heutenant. — sir, Montano, — gentlemen, — 
Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold, hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, for shame ! 

Olh. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth this ? 
Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do that, 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage. 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters ? — 
Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, w^io began this ? on thy love, I charge thee. 

Iago. I do not know ; — friends all but now, even now . 
And then, but now, ' 

(As if some planet had unwitted men.) 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
These legs, that brought me to a part of it ! 

Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? 

Cas. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. 

Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil ; 
The gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
[n mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter, 
That you unlace your reputation thus. 
And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger ; 
Your officer, Iago, can inform you — 
While I spare speech, which something now olT nds me :- 
Of all that I do know : nor know I auoht 



158 SHASSPEARIAN READSRo 

By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin, 
When violence assails us. 

Oth. Now, by heave.'-, 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment collieo 
Assays to lead the way : If I once stir, 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on : 
And he that is approv'd in this offence, 
Shall lose me. — What ! in a town ol war, 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
'Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it ? 

Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near • 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my moislh 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general, 
Montano and myself being in speech. 
There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, 
To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
Lest, by his clamor, (as it so fell out,) 
The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose ; and 1 return'd the rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
I ne'er might say before : When I came back, 
(For this was brief,) I found them close together, 
At blow, and thrust ; even as again they were, 
When you yourself did part them. 
More of this matter can 1 not report : — 
But men are men : the best sometimes forget : — 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
As men in rage strike those that wish them besV- 
Yet, surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd. 
From him that fled, !?ome strange mdig-nity. 
Which patience cou i not pass. 

Oth. I know, lago, 

Thy honest I' and love doth mince this matter, 



OTHELLO. 159 

Making it .ight to Cassio : — Cassio, I love thew , 

JJut never more be officer of mine. — [Exit. 

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I have ost my repu' 
tation ! I have lost the immortal part. — My reputation, lago, my 
reputation, 

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some 
bodily wound ; there is more offence in that, than in reputation. 
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without 
merit, and lost without deserving : you have lost no reputation at all, 
unless you repute yourself such a loser. What, man ! there are 
ways to recover the general again : sue to him again, and he is 
yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive so good a 
commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. 
O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hadst no name to be known 
by, let us call thee — devil ! 

lago. What was he that you follow'd with your sword ? What 
had he done to you ? 

Cas. 1 know not. 

lago. Is it possible ? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly ; a quar- 
rel, but nothing wherefore. — O, that men should put an enemy in 
their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should, with joy, 
revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough : How came you thus 
recovered ? 

Cas. It hath pleased the demon drunkenness, to give place to the 
demon wrath : one unperfectness shows m.e another to make me 
frankly despise myself. 

lago. I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; but, since it is 
as it is, mend it for your own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me, I am a 
drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would 
stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- 
sently a beast ! O strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and 
the ingredient is a demon. 

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be 
well used ; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, 1 
think, you think I love you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk ! 

lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man. 
I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the 
general ; — I may say so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and 
given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement of her 
parts and graces : — confess yourself freely to he.' ; importune her ; 
ehe'll help to put you in your place again : she is of so free, so kind, 



IGO SHAKSPEAUIA.N READEK. 

JO apt, SO ble&sed a disposition, that she holds it a vice in her good 
less, not to do more than she is requested. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

lago, I orotest, in the sincerity of love, and honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morning, I will beseech 
M^! virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me : I am desperate of my 
fonunes, if they check me here. 

lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant ; I must to 
llio watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit CA9=,sirn 



ACT III. 

Iago havinjj effected the disgrace of Cassio, urges him to apply to Desdemot.a, tc 
let-k through her entreaties a reconcihation witl\ Othello. Cassio believing that lagc 
" advises well," beseeches Desdemona to interfere in 1 is behalf with her husband : she 
promises him her aid. 

lago artfully uses the kindness of Desdemona, as a means to excite the jej 'oiisy sf 
Othello. 

Filler Deseemona. Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 

£7niL Good madam, do ; I know, it grieves my husband, 
As if the case were his. 

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, Cassio, 
But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 

Des. O, sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
You have known him long ; and be you well assur'd. 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a poUtic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady, 

That policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet. 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
My general will forget my love and service. 

Des. Do not doubt that : before Emilia hero, 
I give thee \7arrant of thy place; assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
I'll intermingle every thing he does 
With Cassio's suit T Therefore be merry, Cassio; 
For tliy sclicitor shall rather die. 
Than give thy cause away. 



THELLO. 



181 



Ejiter Othello and Iago, at a distance. 

Emil Madam, here comes 

Sly lord. 

Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 

Des, Why, stay, 

And hear me speak. 

Cas. ]\Iadam, not now ; I am very ill at ease, 
Unfit for mine own purposes. 

Des. Well, well, - r. . ri 

Do your discretion. ^Exn Lkssm 

Jacro. Ha ! I like not tliat. 

Oth. What dost thou say ? 

Iago. Nothing, mv lord : or if— 1 know not wb.at. 

Ofh. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 

logo. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think a, 
That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
Seeing you coming. 

Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 

Des. How now, my lord ? 
I have been talking with a suitor here, 
\ man that languishes in your displeasure. 

OOi. Who is't you mean ? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord 
If I have any grace, or power to mover you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
I have no judgment in an honest face : 
I pr'ythee, call him back. 

Oth. Went he hence now ? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled, 
That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
I suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

Otii. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some other time. 

Des. But shall't be shortly ? 

Gill. The sooner, sweet, for you 

Des. Shall't be to-night at supper ? 

6 ill. No, not to-nighi. 

Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 

Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 

1 meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday morn \ 
Or Tuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ; — 
I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent. 
When shall he come ? 
Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my fouI, 
What you could ask me, that I should deny. 



iP2 SHAKSrEARIAN READER. 

Or stand so mamrnering on. What ! Michael Cassio, 
That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
Hath ta'en }»Dur part ; to have so much to do 
To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much. — 

Oih. I will deny thee nothing : 
Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me but a .ittle to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you ? no : Farewell, my lord. 

0th. Farewell, my'Desdemona : I will come to thee straight. 

Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach you ; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [Exit, iviih Emii.iA 

lago. My noble lord, 

Oth. What dost thou say, lago ? 

lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, 
Knov/ of your love ? 

Oih. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou ask ? 

lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? 

lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with her. 

Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 

lago. Indeed ? 

Oih. Indeed ! ay, indeed : — Discern'st thou aught in that ? 
!: he not honest ? 

lago. Honest, my lord ? 

Oih. Ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oih. What dost thou think ? 

lago. Think, my lord ? 

Oih. Think, my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes m.e. 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean something : 
I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife ; What did'st not like ? 
And, when I told thee, — he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, Indeed ? 
And did'st contract and purse thy brow together. 
As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love me, 
Sliow me thy thought. 

lago. My lord, you know I lore you. 

Oih. I think thou dost ; 

And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath. 
Therefore these stops of ihine fright me the more : 
For such things in a false disloyal knave. 
Are tricks of custon ; but, in a man that's jusL 



OTHELLO. 1<>3 

Tliey are close denotements, working from the hoarl. 
That passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, — • 

I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 

Oth. I think so too. 

lago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 

Olh. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

lago. Why then, 

I think, that Cassio is an honest man. 

Olh. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
T pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; ■ 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts ? Why, say, they are vile and false, 
As where's that palace, whereunto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure,, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets, and lav/-days, and in session sit 
With meditations lawful ? 

Oih. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

lago. I do beseech you, — 

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess. 
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses ; and, oft my jealousy 
Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then, 
From one that so imperfectly conjects, 
You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
It were not for your quiet, nor your good. 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
To let you know my thoughts. 

Oth. What dost thou mean ? 

lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothi. g 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave io thousands ; 
But he that filches from me my good name, 
Robs me of that, which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 

lago. You cannot, if my heart were m your hand : 
Nor shall not, vhile 'tis in my custody 

Oth. Ha' 



104 SHAKSPEARIAN READEE. 

lago O, beware, my lord, of jealousy- 
It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
The meat if feeds on. 

Oth. O misery ! 

lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enou^n \ 
Bui riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

Oth. Why ! why is this ? 

Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy. 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? No : to be once in doubt, 
Is — once to be resolv'd : 
'TIS not to make me jealous. 
To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company 
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well : 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
For she had eyes, and chose me : No, lago ; 
I'll see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love, or jealousy. 

lago. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
Receive it from me : — I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio : 
Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature, 
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to't : 
She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
She lov'd them most. . 

Oth. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to, theo '$ 

She that so young, could give out such a seeming. 
To seal her father's eyes up, close as oak. 
He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But I am much to blame ; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
For too much loving you. 
. Oth. I am bound to theo for ever 

lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 

lago. Trust me, I fear it has, 

I hope, you will consider, what is spoke 
Comes from my love : — But, I do see you are mov'd : — 
I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 



OTHELLO. 165 

To grosser issues, ncr to larger reach, 
Than to suspicion. 

Oili. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord, 

AFy speech should fall into such vile success 
As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend : — > 
My lord, I see you are mov'd. 

Oih. No, not much mov'd : — 

I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 

lago. liong live she so ! and long live you to think so ! 

Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 

lago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold with you, — 
Not to affect many proposed matches, 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; 
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
Fob ! one may smell, in such, a will m.ost rank. 
Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
But, pardon me ; I do not in position, 
Distinctly speak of her : though I may fear, 
fler will, recoiling to her better judgment. 
May fall to match you with her country forms, 
And (happily) repent. 

Oth. Farewell, farewell : 

[f more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
Set on thy wife to obsei-ve : Leave me, lago. 

lago. My lord, I take my leave. [doir^ 

Oth. Why did I marry ? — This honest creature, doubtless, 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honor 
To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
And though it be lit that Cassio have his place, 
(For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
Vet, if you please to hold him off awhile, 
Vou shall by that perceive him and his means : 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement. im.portunity ; • 
Much will be seen in that. In the meantime. 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
^As worthy cause I have, to fear — 1 am,) 
And hold her free, 1 do beseech your honor. 

Oih. Fear not my government. 

lago. 1 once more take my leave. ~Ei it 

Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
vAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit. 
Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind. 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 



166 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. , 

That chambsrers have : Or, for I am declin'd 
Into the vale of years ; — yet tliat's not much ;— 
She's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my rehef 
Must be — to loath her. Desdemona comes. 

Eniei' Desdemona, and Emilia 

If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! — 
I'll not believe it. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

Oih. I am to blame. 

Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not we!" ? 

0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away again * 
Let me but bind it hard, w^ithin this hour 
It will be well. 

0th. Your napkin is too little ; 

[He puts the handkerchief from him, and it drops 
Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt 0th. a^ul De.s 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal it : but she so loves the token, 
(For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
That she reserves it evermore about her, 
To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, 
And give it lago ; 

Wliat he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 

Enter Iago. 

lago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 

Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. 

Iago. A thing for me ? — it is a common thing. 

Emil. Ha! 

Iago. To have a foolish wife. 

Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief? 

Iago. What handkerchief ? 

Emil. What handkerchief ? 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 

Iago. Hast stolen it from her ? 

Emil. No, faith ; she let it drop by negligence; 
^vnd, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
Look, b<?ve it is. 



OTHELLO. 167 

[ago. Give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with it, that you have lx}en so earnest 
r«» have me filch it ? 

lago. Why, what's that to you ? [Sfmiching il 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import. 
Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad. 
When she shall lack it. 

lago. Be not you know^n oft ; I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. E.cit Emi: lA. 

[ will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin. 
And let him find it : Trifles, light as air. 
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. 

Enter Othello. 

Look, wnere he comes ! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me ? 

Tome? 

lago. Why, how now, general ? no more of that ? 

Oth. Avaunt ! begone ! thou hast set me on the rack. 

lago. I am sorry to hear this. 

Oth. O now, for ever, 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content I 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! 
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 

lago. Have you not sometimes seen a handkerciuef, 
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand ? 

Oth. 1 gave her such a one ; 'twas my first gift. 

lago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief, 
(1 am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 
It speaks against her, with the other proofs. 

Oth. O, that tJie slave had forty thousand lives 5 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, lago ; 
All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 
Tis gone. — 



168 SKAKSPEARIAN KEADER. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne. 
To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
For 'tis of aspicks' tongues ! 

lago. Pray, be content. 

Oih. O, blood, lago, blood ! 

lago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may change, 

0th. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontick and the Hellespont ; 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 

Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven, [Kneels 

In the due reverence of a sacred vow 
I here engage my words. 

lago. Do not rise yet. — \^Kiv.eh, 

Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
You elements that clip us round about ! 
Witness, that here lago doth give up 
The execution of his wit, hands, heart. 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him command. 
And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
What bloody work soever. 

Oth. I greet thy love, 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 
And will upon the instant put thee to't : 
Within these three days let me hear thee say. 
That Cassio's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done, at your request : 
But let her Uve. [ Eacemxt 

SCENE \Y.—The same. 
Enter Desdemona, and Emilia. 

Des. Wliere should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ? 

Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me : — And, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he not jealous ? 

T)es. Who, he ? I think, the sun, where he was born, 
Drew all such humors from him. 

Emil. Look, where he comes. 

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
Be caird to him. — Hov/ is't with you, my lord ? 



OTHELLO. Ifi9 



Enter Otiiello, 



0th. Well, my frood lady ; — [Aside.] — O, hardness to dissemble ' 
How do you, Desdemona ? 

Des. Well, my good lord 

0th. Give me your hand : 'Tis a good hand. 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so ; 
For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 

0:h. A liberal hand : The hearts, of old, gave hands : 
But our new heraldry is — hands, not heiirts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now your promise, 

Oth. What promise, chuck ? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 

Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me ; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

Oth. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Oth. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, my lord. 

Oth. That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people : she told her, while she kept it» 
'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it. 
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt 
After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
To give it her. T did so : and take heed oft, 
Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
To lose or give't away, were such perdition, 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is it possible ? 

Oth. 'Tis true ; There's magic in the web of it 
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
The sun to make two hundred compasses. 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : 
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk , 
And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful 
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 

Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to'f well. 

Des. Then would to heaven, that I had never seen It. 

Oth. Ha ! wherefore ? 

Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash ? 



170 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Oih. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is it out of the way ? 

Des. Heaven bless us 1 

Oih. Say you ? 

Des. It is not lost ; But what and if it were ? 

Oih. Ha ! 

Des. I say it is not lost. 

Oih. Fetch't, let me see it. 

Des. Why, so I car. , sir, but I will not now ; 
This is a trick, to put me from my suit ; 
I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 

Oih. Fetch me that .landkerchief : my mind misgi\es. 

Des. Come, come ; 
You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 

Oih. The handkerchief, 

Des. I pray, talk me of CassiC 

Oih. The handkerchief, 

Des. A man that, all his time. 

Hath founded his good fortune on your love, 
Shar'd dangers with you ; 

Oih. The handkerchief, 

Des. In sooth, 
You are to blame. 

Oih.^ Av/ay! [FxiiOni^iUi 

Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 

Des. I ne'er saw tiiis before. 
Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
I am most unnappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'Tis not a year or tw^o shows us a man : 
Look you ! Cassio and my husband. 

Enler Iago, and Cassio. 

lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't , 
And, lo, the happiness ! go, and importune her. 

Des. How now, good Cassio ? what's the news with you ? 

Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you, 
That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love. 

Des. Alas ! thrice-gent.e Cassia, 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
Were he in favor, as in humor, alter'd. 
So help me, every spirit sanctified, 
As I have spoken fcr you all my best, 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure, 
For my free speech ! You must a while be patient : 
What I can do, I will ; and more I will, 
Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 

Iago. Is my lord angry ? 



OTHELLO. 171 

Emil He went hence but now, 

And, certainly, in strange unquietness. 

lago. Can he be angry ? 
Something of moment, then : I will go meet him : 
Tliere's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 

Des. I pr'ythee do so. — Something, sure, of state, — {Exit Iaro 
Either from Venice ; or some unhatch'd practice, 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases, 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 
Though great ones are their object. 
Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. 

Emil. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you think, 
And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. / 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be ansvver'd so ; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
But jealous for they are jealous. 

Des. I will go seek Othello. — Cassio, walk hereabout : 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit. 
And seek to affect it to my uttermost. 

Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona, (ind Emilia. 

The catastrophe of this noble domestic tragedy, is foreshadowed in onr extracts. 
Othello, convinced of his wife's dishonor, is instigated by rage and jealonsy to take hei 
ife. But the innocence of Desdemona is proved b-/ th* confession of Emilia, and the 
dibcovery nf lago's treachery. Othello, overwhelniei! with ^n^i" ai.d remorse destroys 
UiObolt', en i lago is delivered a prisoner into *he haniii <^\' 'ui^ica 



THE TEMPEST. 



The Tempest Is supposed to be the last production of Shakspeare's mighty genius ; 
cs it is generaily acknowledged to be the most original and perfect of his works. In this 
Play the Poet has literally " given to airy nothings a local habitation and a name," en- 
dowing them with qualities and furui^liing them with a fitness of language, which investt 
these creatures of his imaginings with all tlie charm and semblance of reality. 

The story is simfile in its construction, yet it is deejjly interesting. Our selections p\\f 
sent the main incidents of the plot in consecutive succession. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Alonzo, King of Naples. 
Sebastian, his brother. 
Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. 
Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 
Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples. 
GoNZALO, an honest old counsellor of Naples. 
Adrian, Francisco, lords. 
Caliban, a savage and deformed slave. 
Trinculo, a jester. 
Stephano, a drunken butler, 
blaster of a ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. 
Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 
Ariel, an airy spirit. 

Iris, Ceres, Juno, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits. 
Other spirits attending on Prospero. 

ACT I. 

SCENE. — The Sea, with a Ship; afterwards an uninhabited Island 

Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has been dethroned by his brother Antonio 
tnd banished from his dominions. Prospero seeks refuge in a desert island, with his 
daughter Miranda, and by magic arts, surrounds himself with "potent spirits," which 



THE TEMPEST. 173 

»re obedient to his wul. Having learned by his " magic " that his brother Antonio has 
embarked in a vessel for Naples, in company with Alonzo, King of Naples, the king's 
ton, Ferdinand, together with certain lords of Milan and Naples, Prospero commands his 
trasly spirit Ariel, to wreck the vessel near the island, but to save the lives of the noble 
passengers and crew, and bring thenr. safely to shore. Prospero and his daughter Miranda 
witness the destruction of the vesse., 

SCENE IL— The Island : before the Cell of Prosfkuo. 
Enter Prospero, and Miranda. 

Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you havo 
I'ut the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should the good ship so have swallowed, and 
The freighting souls within her. 

Pro. Ee collected ; 

No more amazement : tell your piteous heart, 
There's no harm done. 

Mira. O, woe the day ! 

Pro. No hann. 

I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
(Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
And thy no greater father. 

Mira. More to know 

Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pro. 'Tis time 

I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand. 
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So; [Lays down Ins marUlt. 
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. 
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
No, not so much perdition as a hair, 
Betid to any creature in the vessel 

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. — Sit dovii ; 
For thou must now know further. 

Mira. You have often 

Begun to tell me what f am ; but stopp'd 



174 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And left me to a bootless inquisiiiori ; 
Concluding, Stay^ not yet. — 

Pro. Tlie hour's now come , 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
Obey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell ? 
I do not think thou can'st ; for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? 
Of any thing the image tell me, that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mira. 'Tis far off: 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants : Had I not 
Four or five women once, that tended me ? 

Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : But how is it. 
That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 

Mira. But that I do not. 

Pro. Twelve years since, IMiranda, twelve years since 
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and 
A prince of pov.-er. 

Mira. Sir, are not you my father ? 

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
A princess, no worse issued. 

Mira. O, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence ; 
Or blessed was't, we did 2 

Pro. Beth, both, my girl ; 

By foul play, as thou say'st, wc re we heav'd thence ; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. O, :iny heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen* that I have turn'd you to, 
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you, further. 

Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— 
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state ; as, at that time, 
Through all the signories it was tlie first, 
And Prosper© the prime duke ; being so reputed 
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts. 
Without a parallel : those being all my study. 



THF TEMPEST. 

The government I d ast upon my brother, 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported, 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
Dost thou attend me ? 

Mira. Sir, most heed fully. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
To trash* lor over-topping ; new created 
The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd them 
Or else new form'd them ; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state 
To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st not : 
I pray thee, mark me. 

Allra. O good sir, I do. 

Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which, but by being so retired. 
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust, 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was : which had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact, — like one, 
Who having, unto truth, by telling of it. 
Made such a sinner of his memory, 
To- credit his own lie, — he did believe 
He was indeed the duke ; out of the substitution, 
And executing the outward face of royalty 
With all prerogative : — Hence his ambitior 
Growing, — Dost thou hear ? 

Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafri 

Pro. To have no screen betw^een this part he play'd, 
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage ; 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then tell me 
Tf this might be a brother. 

* Cut away. 



175 



.176 SHAKSPEARIAN READIIR. 

Alira. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother. 

Pro. Now thn r.oRdtisa 

This king of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
Which was. that he in lieu o' the premises,— 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, 
{Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Oat of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan, 
With all the honors, on my brother : Whereon, 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness. 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me, and thy crying self. 

3Hra. Alack, for pity ! 

I, not rememb'ring how I cryM out then, 
Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, 
That wrings mine eyes to't. 

Pro. Hear a little farther. 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now's upon us ; without the which, this story 
Were m^ost impertinent. 

Mira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us ? 

Pro. ' Well demanded, girl ; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not 
(So dear the love my people bore me,) nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
With colors fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd, 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the veiy rats 
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us. 
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mira. ° Alack ! vrhat trouble 

Was I then to you ! 

Pro. O ! a cherubim 

Thou wasi thou didst preserve me ! Thou didst smile-j 
Infused wi.h a fortitude ft-om heaven, — 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
Against what should ensue. 

Mira. How came we ashore ? 

Pro. By Providence divire. 



THE TEMPEST. 177 

Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 

A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 

Out of his chanty, (who being then appointed 

Master of this design,) did give us ; with 

Rich garments, hnens, stuff's, and necessaries, 

Which since have steaded much ; so, of his geiitif^ness, 

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me. 

From my own hbrary, with volumes that 

I prize above my dukedom. 

Mira. 'Would I might 

But ever see that man ! 

Pro. Now I arise : — 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arrived ; and here 
Have 1, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princes can, that have more time 
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 

Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now, 1 pray you si) 
(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
For raising this sea-storm ? 

Pro. Know thus far forth. — 

By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
Now, my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
[ find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ; 
Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
And give it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. 

[Miranda sleeps 
Come away, servant, come : I am ready now ; 
Approach, my Ariel ; come. 

Enter Ariei, 

Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I come 
To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
Ariel and all his quality. 

Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 

Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? 

Ari. To every article. 
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
I flamed amazement : Sometimes, I'd divide, 
And burn in many places ; on the top-mast, 
The yards and lx)wsprit, would I flame distinctly. 
Then meet, and join : Jove's lijjhtnings, the nrecursora 



179 SH.4KSPEAEIAN READER. 

O' tlie dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
And sight-out-running were not : The fire, and cracks 
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pro. My brave spirit ! 

Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil* 
Would not infect his reason ? 

Ari. Not a soul 

But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
Then all a-fire with me. The king's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
Was the first man that leap'd. 

Pro. Why, that's my spirit . 

But was not this nigh shore ? 

Ari. Close by, my master. 

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 

Ari. Not a hair perish'd , 

On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me, 
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle : 
The king's son have I landed by himself; 
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 
fn an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pro. Of the king's ship, 

The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
And all the rest o' the fleet ? 

Ari. Safely in harbor 

Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid : 
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labor, 
I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, 
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again ; 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,f 
Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
And his great person perish. 

Pro. ^ Ariel, thy charge 

^xrxtly is perform'd ; but there's more work : 
What is the time o' the day ? 

Ari. Past the mid season. 

Pro. At least two glasses : the time 'twixt six and now 
Mupt by us both be spent most preciously. 

* P.u^t]e, tumult t Wave. 



THE TEB PEST. 179 

Ari. Is there more toil ? — Since thou dost give me pains, 
Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
Whica is not yet perform'd me. 

Pro. How now ? moody ? 

What is't thou can'st demand ? 

Ari. My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be out ? no more. 

Ari I pray thee 

Uemember, I have done thee worthy service ; 
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
Without or grudge, or grumblings : thou didst promise 
To bate me a full year. 

Pro. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment [ did free thee ? 

Ari. No, 

Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
When it is bak'd with frost. 

Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy, 
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ? 

Ari. No, sir. 

Pro. Thou hast : Where was she bom ? speak ^l HA 

Ari. Sir, in Argier. 

Pro. O, was she so ? I must. 

Once in a montM, recount what thou hast been, 
Which thou forget'st. This vile witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she lid. 
They would not take her life : Is not this true ? 

Ari. Ay, sir. 

Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought, 
And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave. 
As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant : 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee, 
By help of her more potent ministers, 
And in her most unmitigable rage. 
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain 
A dozen years ; within which space she died, 
And left thee there ; where thou didst vent thy groans, 
As fiist as mill-whee.s strike : Then was tliis island, 



180 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Saving licr son, not honor'd with 
A haman shape. 

Ari. Yes ; CaHban her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
Of ever-angry bears. This Sycorax 
Could not again undo ; it was mine art. 
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
The pine, and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

Ari. Pardon, master : 

I will be correspondent to command, 
And do my spiriting gently. 

Pro. Do so ; and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

Ari. That's my noble master ! 

What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ? 

Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea ; 
Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, 

And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. [Exit Anisi 

Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
Awake ! 

Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
Heaviness in me. 

Pro. Shake it off; Come on ; 

We'll visit Caliban, my^slave, who never 
Yields us a kind answer. 

Mira. 'Tis r villain, sir, 

I do not love to look on. 

Pro. But, as 'tis. 

We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices 
That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
Thou earth, thou ! speak. 

Cal. [within.] There's wood enough within. 

Pro. Come forth, 1 say ; there's other business for thee ! 
Come forth, thou tortoise ! when ? 

Re-enter Ariel, like a icater-nymph. 

Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
Hark in thine ear. 

Ari. My lord, it ehall be done. { Ex\ 

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth ! 



THE TEMPEST 



Eniiir Caliban. 



181 



Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
And blister you all o'er. 

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shall have crcunpa, 
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
AL exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made them. 

Cal. I must eat my dinner. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest firs^ 
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; woa d'st give me 
Water with berries in't ; and teach me how 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That burn by day and night : and then I lov'd theo. 
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle. 
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile* . 
Cursed be I that I did so ! — All the charms 
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, hght on you ! 
For I am all the subjects that you have, 
Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, while you do keep from me 
The rest of the island. 

Pro. Abhorred slave ; 

Which any print of goodness will not take ; 
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
One thing or other : when thou did'st not, savage, 
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
With words that made them known : But thy vile race, 
Though thou did'st learn, had that in't which good nature? 
Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confin'd into this rocK, 
Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on't 
[s, I know how to curse : the red plague ria* you, 
For learning me your language ! 

Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 

Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, 
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? 
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
WTiat I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; 
Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

* Destroy 



1S2 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Cal, No, pray thee ! — 

I must ooey : his art is of such power, \A^d6 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 

Pro. So, slave ; hence ! \_Exit Caliban. 

Re-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing; Ferdinand foh 
lowing him. 

Fer. Where should this music be ? i' the air. or the eartli *? 
It sounds no rnore : — and sure it waits upon 
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank 
Weeping again the king my father's wreck. 
This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
With its sweet air : thence I have folio w'd it, 
Or it hath drawn me rather : — But 'tis gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 

Full fathom Jive thy father lies : 

Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are pearls, that were his eyes : 

Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-mjmphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark I now I hear them, ding-dong, bell. 
[Burden, ding-dong. 

Fer. The dittty does remember my drown'd father :— 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
That the earth owns : — I hear it now above me. 

Pro. The fringed curtain of thine eye advance 
And say, what thou seest yond. 

Mira. Wliat is't ? a spirit ? 

See, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
[t carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 

Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses 
As we have ; such : This gallant, which tiiou seest, 
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
With grief — that's beauty's canker — thou might'st call him 
A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, 
And strays about to find them. 

Mira. I might call him 

A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so noble. 

Pro. [Aside.] It goes on, I see, 

As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free theo 
Within two davs for this. 



THE TEMPEST. 183 

Fer. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe, my prayer 
May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
And that you will some good instruction give, 
How I may bear me here : My prime request, 
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
If you be maid or no ? 

Mira. No wonder, sir ; 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens ! — 

I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 'tis spoken. 

Pro, How ! the best ? 

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; 
And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
The king my father wreck'd. 

Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer, Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of Milan, 
And his brave son, being twain. 

Pro. The duke of Milan, 

And his more braver daughter, could control thee, 
If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight \_ Aside 

They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this ! — A word, good sir ; 
I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 

Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? This 
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father 
To be inclin'd my way ! 

Fer. O, if a virgin. 

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
The queen of Naples. 

Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — 

They are both in either's powers ; but this swift business [X^ide 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
Make the prize light. — One word more ; I charge thee, 
That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple : 
If the ill spirit have so fair an house, 
Good things will strive to dwell with't. 

Pro. Follow me. — [ToFERft 

Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come. 



184 SHAKSPE^RIAN READER. 

I'll manacle thy neck and feet together : 
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, vvither'd roots, and husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. 

Per. _ No ; 

r will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. [Hs d^awi 

Mira. O dear father. 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful.* 

Pro. What, I say, 

My foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience 
Is so possess'd with guilt : come ; from thy ward ; 
For I can here disarm thee with this stick. 
And make thy weapon di-op. 

Mira. Beseech you, father ! 

Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 
Mira. Sir, have pity, 

I'll be his surety. 

Pro. Silence ! one word more 

^hall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
An advocate for an impostor ? hush ! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he. 
Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish wench ! 
To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pro. Come on ; obey [ To Ferd 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
And have no vigor in them. 

Per. So they are : 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel. 
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me. 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid : all corners else of the earth 
Let liberty make use of; space enough 
Have I, in such a^ prison. 

Pro. It works : — Come on. — 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — [ To Ffrd. and Mir 
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Artei. 

Mira. Be of comfc rt ; 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 

• FrightfuJ 



THE TEMrEST. 185 

Ylian he appears by si)eech ; this is unwonted, 
VViiich now came from liim. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds ; but then exactly do 
All points of my command, 

Ari. To the syllable. 

Pro. Corae.. follow : speak not for him. [^Exeunt. 

Ferdinand k compelled, by the power of Prospero, to assume *he menial employmeu 
of an attendant on the Magician, the more readily to bring the young Prince mto an ao 
(juaintance with Miranda, who regards him with affection. 

ACT III. 

SCENE L— Before Prosperous Cell. 



Fer. There be some sports are painful ; but their labor 
Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, 
And makes my labors pleasures : O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; * 
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such baseness 
Had ne'er like executor. I forget : 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labors ; 
Most busy, least when I do it. 

Enter Miranda, and Pkospero at a distance. 

Mira. Alas, now ! pray you 

Work not so hard ; I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this btirns. 
'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself ; 
He's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress, 

The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
What I must strive to do. 

Mira. If you'll sit down, 

t'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No : precious creature ! 

had rather crack my sinews, break my back. 



1S6 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER 



Than you sliould such dislionor undergo, 
While I sit lazy by. 

Mira. It would become me 

As well as it does you : and I should do it 
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 
And yours it is against. 

Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infeLted 5 

This visitation shows it. 

Mira. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with m« 
When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
(Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) 
What is your name ? 

Mira. Miranda : — O my father, 

I have broke your best to say so ! 

Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 

Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
Have I lik'd several women ; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd. 
And put it to the foil : But you, O you. 
So perfect and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best. 

Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have 1 seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
I am skilless of ; but, by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
Any companion in the world but you ; 
Nor can imagination form a shape, 
Beside yourself, to like of ; But I prattle 
Something too widely, and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. 

Fer. I am, in my condition, 

A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ; 
(I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speak 5— 
The very instant that I saw you, did 
My heart fly to your sers'ice ; there resides, 
To make me slave to it ; and for your sake, 
Am I this patient 1 'g-man. 

Mira. Do you love me '/ 



THE TEMPEST. 187 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound 
And crown what I profess with kind event, 
.f I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
Do love, prize, honor you. 

Mira. I am a fool, 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between them ! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you 1 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
What I desire to give ; and much less take, 
What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
And all the more it seeks to hide itself. 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest, 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mira. My husband then ? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now farewell, 
Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 

[^Exeunt Fer. and MiB. 

Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be. 
Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; 
For yet ere supper time, must I perform 
Much business appertaining. [£.ru. 

Caliban and Ariel, under the direction of Prospero, take charge of the other ctiaraoter* 
gaved from the wreck. Caliban, to whom is confided the care of the Sailors, draw« 
them into a conspiracy to destroy Prospero. The King and his Company are brought by 
Ariel to another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, 
and others. 

Gon. By'r la'kin, I can go no further, sir ; 
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed. 
Through forth-rights and meanders ! by your patience, 

needs must rest me. 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 



188 SIIAKSPEAIIIAN READER. 

Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
To the dulhng of my spirits : sit down, and rest, 
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd, 
Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land : Well, let him go. 

Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 

[Aside to Skpistian 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to effect. 

Seb. The next advantage 

Will we take thoroughly. 

Ant. Let it be to-nisfht ; 

For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when they are fresh. 

Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 

Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above, invisible. Enter 

several strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet ; tJiey dance about ii 

with gentle actions of salutation ; and inviting the King, <^"C. to eat 

they depart. 

Alon. What harmony is this ? my good friends, hark ! 

Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! 

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were these. ? 

Seb. A living drollery : Now I will believe 
That there are unicorns ; that, in Arabia 
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I'll believe both ; 

And what does else want credit, come to me, 
And I'll be sworn 'tis true ; Travellers ne'er did lie, 
Though fools at home condemn them. 

Gon. If in Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
(For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall find 
Many, nay, almost any. 

Pro. [Aside.'] Honest lord 

Thou hast said well for some of you mere present, 
Are worse than demons. 

Alan. I cannot too much muse, 

Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing 
(Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro. [Aside.] Praise in departing. 



THE TE.'IPEST. 189 

Fran, They vanish'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind ; for we have stomachs. — 
Wiil't please you taste of what is here ? 

Alon. Not I. 

Gon. Faith, sir, you peed not fear : When we were boys, 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them 
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men. 
Whose heads stood in their breasts ? v^'hich now we find, 
Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 
Good warrant of. 

Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 

Although my last : no matter, since I feel. 
The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke. 
Stand to, and do as we. 

Thunder and lighinmg. Enter Ariel like a harjjy ; claps hh 
wings upon tlie table, and with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 
Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 

(That hath to instrument this lower world. 

And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea 

Hath caused to belch up ; and on this island 

Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 

Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 

[Seeing Alon. Seb. cf-c. draw their sicorji 

And even v/ith such hke valor, men hang and drown 

Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 

Are ministers of fate ; the elements, 

Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 

Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 

Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 

One dowle that's in my plume ; my fellow ministers 

Are hke invulnerable : if you could hurt, 

Your swords are nov/ too massy for your strengths, 

And will not be uplifted : But, remember, 

(For that's my business to yon.) that you three 

From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 

Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 

Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 

The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 

Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 

Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonzo, 

They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 

Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death 

Can be at once) shall step by step attend 

You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from 

(Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 

Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, 

And a clear life ensuing. 



190 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADEK. 



He vanishes in tlmnder : then, to sofi music, enter the Shapes agav\ 
and dance with mops and mowes, and carry out the table. 

Pro. [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform 'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring : 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life, 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done : my high charms work. 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) 
And his and my loved darling. [Exit Phosfeeo from alove, 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you 
In this strange stare ? 

Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 

Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
And with him there lie mudded. [Earit 

Seb. But one fiend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt Seb -dnd Ant 

Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great guilt. 
Like poison given to work a great time after. 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits : — I do beseech you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly. 
And hinder them from what this ecstasy 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, I pray you. [ BTeujit 



ACT lY. 

SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miraiida 

Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
Vour compensation makes amends ; for I 
Have given you here a thread of mine own life, 
Or that for whicn I live ; whom once again 
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 



THE TEMPEST. 19 t 

w ratify this my rich g^ift. O, Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, 
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
And make it halt behind her. 

Fer. I do believe it, 

Against an oracle. 

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But not 
Till sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be minister'd : 
Then Hymen's lamps shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fair issue, and long life. 
With such love as 'tis now ; the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser Genius can, shall never taint 
Mine honor. 

Pro. Fairly spoke : 

Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own — 
What, Ariel: my industrious servant Ariel ! 
Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master ? here I am. 

Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last ser\'ico 
Did worthily perform ; and J must use you 
In such another trick : go, bring the rabble, 
O'er whom 1 give thee power, here, to this p.ace : 
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. 

Ari. Presently ? 

Pro. Aye, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say. Come, and go^ 
And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ; 
Each one, tripping on his toe, 
Will be here with mop and mowe : 
Do you love me, master ? no ? 

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not approach, 
Till thou dost hear me call. 

Ari. Well I conceive. \J^^^^ 

Pro. Look, thou be true. 

Fer. I warrant you, sir. 

Pro. Well.— 
Now come, my Ariel : bring a corollary. 
Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly. — 
No tongue; all eyes: be silent. \.^^ music 

A Masque. Enter Iris. 

Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 



192 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 

And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 

Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, 

With spongy April at thy hest* betrims, 

To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom grovefe. 

Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 

Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 

And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard. 

Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 

Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 

Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace. 

Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, 

To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 

Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 

Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail many-color'd messenger, that ne'er 
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter. 
Who, with thy saffron wing, upon my flowers 
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers ; 
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen 
Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green ? 

Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the bless'd lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow. 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot 
The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
Her and her blhid boy's scandal'd company^ 
1 have forsworn. I 

Iris. Of her society [ 

Be not afraid ; I met her deity J 

Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
Dove-drawn with her. 

Cer. Highest queen of state, 

Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. 

Enter Juno. 
Jun. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with roc, 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
And honor'd in their issue. 

SONG. 

Jun. Honor, riches, marriage-blessing, 
Long continuance, and increasing^ 

* Commanl. 



THE TEMPEST. 103 

Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 
Cer. EartK's increase, and foison* plenty, 
Barns and garners never empty ; 
Vines, with clustering bunches growing 
Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
Spring cojne to you, at the farthest, 
In the very end of harvest ! 
Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you 
Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
To think these spirits ? 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines called to enact 
My present fancies. 

Fer. Let me live here ever ; 

So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, 
Make this place Paradise. 

[Juno and Ct^-res whisper, and send Iris on emphyvierit 
Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 

Juno and Ceres whisper snrioiisly ; 
There's something else to do ; hush, and be mute. 
Or else our spell is marr'd 

Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring brocks, 
With your sedg'd crowns, '»nd ever harmless looks. 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
Answer your summons : Juno does command ; 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love ; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sun-burn'd sicklemen of August weary, 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on, 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 

Enter certain Reape^r, j/r^perly habited ; they join with the Nymphs 
in a graceful dance ; towards the end whereof Prospero stai-ts 
suddenly, and speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and con* 
fused noise, they heavily vanish. 
Pro. [Aside.] I had ^orgot that foul conspiracy 

Of the beast Ciliban, and his confederates, 

Against my life ; the minute of their plot 

Is almost come. — [To the Spirits.] Well done ; — avoid ; — no more. 
/v. This is most strange : your father's in some passion 

That works him strongly. 

Abundance. 



194 SHAKSPEARIAN READEK. 

Mira. Never till this day, 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort 
As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir : 
Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air : 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little hfe 
Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ; 
Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled. 
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell. 
And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk. 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [ExeupJ, 

Prospero defeats the Plot laid by Caliban, and punishes the Cotispimion through Iht 
agency of his attendant spirits. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I.— Before the Cell o/ Prospero. 
Enter Prospero in his magic robes ; ana Ariel. 

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ? 

Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord. 
You said our work should cease. 

Pro. I did say so, 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
How fares the king and his ? 

Ari. Confin'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners 
In the Hme-grove which weather-fends your cell ; 
They cannot budge, till your release. The king, 
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ; 
And the remainder mourning over them. 
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
Him you term'd, sir. The good old lord, Gonzalo , 
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works thera. 
That if you now beheld them, your affections 
Would become tender. 



THE TEMPEST. 19S 

Pro Dost thou think so, spirit ? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, 
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply. 
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ? 
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 
Yet, with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
Do i take part : the rarer action is 
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent. 
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ; 
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, 
And they shall be themselves. 

Art. I'll fetch theci, sir. [£«il. 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and grovo^ ; 
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that 
By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
VVhereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime 
Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be), I have bedimm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds. 
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'ct vault 
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, 
Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth 
By my so potent art : But this rough magic 
I here abjure : and, when I have requir'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
To work mine end upon their senses, that 
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth. 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I'll drown my book. {^Solemn music.. 

Ue-enier Ariel : after him, Alonzo, with a frantic gesture, attended 
by GoNZALO ; Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended 
by Adrian and Francisco : they alt enter the circle which Pros- 
PERO had made, and there stand charmed ; which Prospero ob- 
serving, speaks. 

A solemn air, and the best comforter 

To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 



l96 SHAKSPE^RIAN READER. 

Now useless, boil'd within thy sliull ! There stand. 

For you are spell stopp'd. 

Holy Gonzalo, honorable man, 

Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, 

Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace ; 

And as the morning steals upon the ni^ht, 

Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 

Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 

Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo, 

My true preserver, and a loyal sir 

To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 

Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 

Didst thou, Alonzo, use me and my daughter : 

Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — • 

Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and blood, 

You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 

Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian 

(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 

Would have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee. 

Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 

Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 

Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 

That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, 

That yet looks on me, or would know m.e : — Ariel, 

Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [Exit Arisl 

I will dis-case me, and myself present, 

As I was sometime Milan : — quickly, spirit ; 

Thou shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. 
Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 
In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
There I couch when owls do cry. 
On the baCs back I dofiy, 
After summer, merrily : 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel : I shall miss thee ; 
But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. — 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches ; the master, and the boatswain. 
Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
And presently, I pr'ythee. 

Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or e'er youi pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
Out of this fearful countrv ! 



THE TEMPEST. 197 

Pro. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; 
And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no. 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw thee, 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
(And if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign ; and I do entreat 
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should Prospero 
Be living, and be here ? 

Pro. First, noble friend, 

Let me embrace thine age ; whose honor cannot 
Be measur'd, or confin'd. 

Gon. Whether this be. 

Or be not, I'll not swear. 

Pro. You do yet taste 

Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain : — Welcome, my friends all : — 
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 

[Aside to See., and Ant 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
And justify you traitors ; at this time 
I'll tell no tales. 

Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Asidt 

Pre No: 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault ; ail of them ; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know. 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
My dear son Ferdinand. 

Pro. I am woe for't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and patience 
Says it is past her cure. 

Pro. I rather think, 

Vou have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace 
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, 
And rest myself content. 



198 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Alon. You the like loss ? 

Pro. As ^eat to me, as late ; and, supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you ; for I 
Have lost my daughter. 

Alon. A daughter ? 

heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wis'i 
Myself weie mudded in that oozy bed 

Where my son hes. When did you lose your daughter ! 

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire, 
Tliat they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
Been jostled from your senses, know for certain, 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
Which was thrust forth of Milan ; who most strangoTy, 
Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, 
To be the lord on't. No more yet of '■his ; 
For 'lis a chronicle of day by day, 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; 
This cell's my court : here have I few attendants, 
And subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 

1 will requite you with as good a thing ; 

At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye, 
As much as me my dukedom. 

The entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers Ferdinand and Mm amda, 
playing at chess. 

Mira. S\\ oet lord, you play me false. 

Fer. No, my dearest love, 

r would not for the world. 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, 
And I would call it fair play. 

Alon. If this prove 

A vision of this island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. 

Seb. A most high miracle ! 

Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful : 
I have curs'd them without cause. [Ferd. JinejJs to A.LOa 

Alon. Now all the blessings 

Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
Arise, and say how thou cani'st here. 

Mira. O ! wonder ! 

How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
How beauteous mankind is I O brave new world. 
That has such people jn^t ! 



THE TEMPEST. 199 

Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 

Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play ? 
Vour eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
And brought us thus together ? 

Fer. Sir, she's mortal ; 

But, by immortal providence, she's mine ; 
I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan. 
Of Vv'hum so often I have heard renown, 
But never saw before ; of whom I have 
Received a second life, and second father 
This lady makes him to me. 

Alon. I am hers : 

But O, how oddly will it sound, that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness ! 

Pro. There, sir, stop ; 

Let us not burden our remembrances 
With a heaviness that's gone. 

Gon. I have inly wept, 

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither ! 

Alon. I say. Amen, Gonzalo ! 

Give me your hands : [ To Fee. and MiR. 

Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
That doth not wish yoa joy ! 

Gon. Be't so ! Amen ! 

Re-enter Ariel, with the JMaster aiid Boatswain amazedhj folloiving, 

look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us ! 

1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 

This fellow could not drown : Now, blasphemy. 
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? 

Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
Our king, and company ; the next our ship, — 
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, — 
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Art. Sir, all this service ^ 

Have I done since I went. ^ \_Asidti 

Pro. My tricksy spirit ! ) 

Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen. 
From strange to stranger : — Say, how came you hither ? 

Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
r'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
And (how, we knov not) all clapp'd under hatches. 



200 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Where, but even now, with strange and several noises 

Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, 

And more diversity of sounds all horrible, 

We were awak'd ; straightway, at Uberty : 

Wliere we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 

Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 

Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, 

E'ven in a dream, we were divided from them, 

ft.nd were brought moping hither. 
Ari Was't well done ? \ I A U 

Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. ^ L^ ^«i*a 

Ahn This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : 

And there is in this business more than nature 

Was ever conduct of: some oracle 

Must rectify our knowledge. 

Pro. Sir, my liege, 

Do not infest your mind with beating on 

The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure. 

Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 

(Which to you shall seem probable), of every 

These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful, 

And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit ; [ Aside 

Set Caliban and his companions free : 

Untie the spell. [Exil Ariei. 

Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 

To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 

For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 

With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 

Go quick away : the story of miy life, 

And the particular accidents, gone by. 

Since I came to this isle : And in the morn 

I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 

Where I have hope to see the nuptial 

Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 

And thence retire me to my Milan, where 

Every tliird thought shall be my grave. 

Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 

Take the ear strangely. 

Pro. I'll deliver all ; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 

And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 

Vour royal fleet far off. — My Ariel ;— chick, — 

That is thy charge ; then to the elements 

Be free, and fare thou wc 11 ! — 

Exeunt 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



The story of Romeo and Juliet is considered to be historically true ; the Veronese fix 
ite date of this tragedy as 1303. 

" The history of the fair Capulet and her loved Montague," furnished themes f(r 
■ovelists, and had inspired the muse of the Poets, previous to Shakspeae's time: He 
nas availed himself of these labns to construct his exquisite Drama; the in'mitable cha- 
racter of Mercutio, however, is an entirely original creation of the Dramatist. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

EscALUS, Prince of Verona. 

Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. 

ONTA u , / j^^Q^g of two houses, at variance with each otkir. 
Oapulet, ^ •' 

An old man, uncle to Capulet. 
Romeo, son to Montague. 

Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romec 
Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. 
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 
Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. 
Friar John, oJ the same order. 
Balthazar, servant to Romeo. 
Sampson, Gregory, servants to Capulet. 
Abram, servant to Montague. 
An Apothecary. Three Musicians. 
Chorus. Boy. Page to Paris. 
Peter. An Officer. 

Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens 0/ Verona ; several Men and Women, relations to both houses 
Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants. 

SCENE, — during the greater part of the Play, in Verona ; once, in the 
Fifth Act, at Mantua. 



202 SIlAKSPEARiAN READER. 

Tlie rival Houses of Capulet and Montague were two of the most distingu'sned Faml 
lies in Verona : An " ancient grudge" existed between these Houses, and " civil brawls' 
were constantly occurring between them, in which the connections and retainers of tht 
opposing heads took part. The Play opens with one of these outbreaks : In the midsl 
of the fray, the Prince of Verona appears, separates the combatants, and declares to Ca 
pulet and Montague — 

" If ever you disturb our streets again, 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace." 

Montague and his kinsman Benvclio discourse on the late fray. Romeo joins them 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

Enter Montague, lady Montague, and Benvolk 

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel now abroach ? — 
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began ? 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds : 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
Came more and more, and fought on part and part. 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ! — saw you him to-daj 
Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. 

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore. 
That westward rooteth from the city's side, — 
So early walking did I see your son : 
Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me, 
And stole into the covert of the wood : 
I, measuring his affections by my own, — 
That most are busied when they are most alone, — 
Pursu'd my humor, not pursuing his, 
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighg : 
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
Should in the further east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
Away from light steals home my hea\y son, 
And private in his chamber pens himself; 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out> 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 203 

And make.5 himself an artificial night : 
Black and poi^entous must this humor prove, 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? 

Mon. T neither know it, nor can learn of him. 

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means '! 

Mon. Both by myself, anxl many other friends • 
nut he, his own affections' counsellor. 
Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
But to himself so secret and so close, 
So far from sounding and discovery. 
As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
Or dedicate his beauty to tlie sun. 
Could we but learn from whence hi? sorrows groW; 
We would as willingly give cure, as know. 

Enter Romeo, at a distance. 

Ben. See, where he comes : So please you, step aside ; 
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. 

[Exeunt Montague, and ladj 

Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Horn. Is the day so young ? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast ? 

Ben. It was : — What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours ? 

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. 

Ben. In love ; meseems ! 
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. 
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
Where shall we dine ? — O me ! — What fray was here ? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : — 
O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh ? 

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 

Rom. Good heart, at what ? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shown, 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
10 ^ 



204 SHAKSPKARIAN HEADER. 

liOve is a stnoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 

Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 

Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 

What is it else ? a madness most discreet, 

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 

Farewell, my coz. [Cjj^V^^ 

Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 

An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Rom. Tut, 1 have lost myself ; I am not here ; 
This is not Romeo, he's some other where. 

Be:i. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. 

Rom. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. 

Rom. A right good marksman ! — And she's fair I lOvp.. 

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be bU 
With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit ; 
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. 
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes. 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
O ! she is rich in beauty ; only poor. 
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair. 
To merit bliss by making me despair : 
She hath forsworn to love ; and, in that vow, 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 

Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thirrk. 

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
Exam.ine other beauties. 

Rom. 'Tis the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brow*, 
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; 
He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair. 
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair ? 
Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. \_Exbi(vi 

The •• County Paris " loves the lady Juliet, anu receives her fatliei's permission to pre 
fer his suit. — Capulet gi/es an entertainment, to which he invites young Paris: .Atthj 
feast the fair Rosaline is also to be a guest, and Romeo is persuaded b? his coi»si» 
Jenvolio, to attend, that he may — 

' Compare her face wir.h some that I sh:ill show, 
.^iiii r wi'i n.iake thee (hici.k Ihy swan acov/." 



ROMEO AND JULIET 



205 



SCENE IIL—A Room in Capulet's Jlousf,. 
Enter Lady Cafulet, and Nurse. 

La. Caj). N arse, where's my daughter ? call her forth \ ) trie. 

Nurse. Now, by my faith, — at twelve year old. 
I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird i 
Heaven forbid ! where's this girl ? — what Juliet ! 

Enter Juliet 

Jul. How ROW, who calls ? 

Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul Madam, I am 'ieJc 

What is your will ? 

La. Cap. This is the matter : — Nurse, give leave av/hile, 
We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again ; 
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — 
She is not fourteen. — How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide ? 

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be eighteen. 
Heaven mark thee to its grace ! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd. 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
I came to talk of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposiion to be married ? 

Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. 

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now. 
Thus then, in brief, — 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, 
As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. 

La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gentleman ? 
This night you shall behold him at our feast : 
{Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? 

Jul. I'll look to Hke, if looking liking move : 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye, 
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 



jiVO SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Enter a Servant, 

Berv. Madam, the o-uests are come, supper served up, you called, 
my young lady asked for, the nurse wanted in the pantry, and everj' 
thing in extremity. I must hence to vi^ait ; I beseech you, foilo\c 
straight. 

ha. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays. [ExeurJ. 

SCENE IV.— il Street. 

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with Five or Six Maskers 
Torch-bearers, and others. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ? 
Or shall we on without apology ? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : 
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance : 
But let them measure us by what they will, 
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. 

Rom. Give me a torch, — I am not for this ambling ; 
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 

Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes. 
With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead. 
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings, 
And soar with them above a common bound. 

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, 
To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 
Too great oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough. 
Too rude, coo boist'rous. 

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
Give me a case to put my visage in : [Putting on a masK 

A visor for a visor ! — what care I, 
What curious eye doth quote deformities ? 
Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. 

Beru Come, knock, and enter ; and no sooner in, 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, b'ght of heart, 
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; 
For 1 am proverb'd witli a grandsire phrase, — 
['11 be a candle-holder, and 'ook on. 
But 'tis nc vit to (yo. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 207 

Mer. Why, may one ask ? 

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 

Mer. O, then, f see, queen Mab hath been with yoo 
She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
On tie fore-finger of an alderman, 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
AtLiwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams • 
Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film 
Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat, 
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prlck'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains, and tlien they dream of love ; 
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight : 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; 
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : 
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
Then dreams he of another benefice : 
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
And sleeps again. 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; 

Thou talk'st of notliing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; 

Which are the children of an idle brain, 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air ; 
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
And, being anger'd, pufl:3 away from thence, 
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Rom. I fear, too ear^y : fo- my mind misgives, 



208 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 

Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 

With this night's revels ; and expire the term 

Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, 

By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 

But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 

Direct my sail I — On, gentlemen. [Ea euiit 

SCENE v.— A Hall in Capulet's House. 
Enter Capulet, <^c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. 

Cap. You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day, 
That I have worn a visor ; and could tell 
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 
Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : 
You are welcome, gentlemen ! — Come, musicians, play. 

[Music plays, and they da'ict 

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand 
Of yonder knight ? 

Serv. I loiow not, sir. 

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright ' 
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand. 
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyh. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : 
Fetch me my rapier, boy : — Wliat ! dares the slave 
Come liither, covered with an antic face, 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
Now, by the stock and honor of my kin. 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm you so ? 

Tyh. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
A villain, that is hither come in spite. 
To scorn at our solemnity tlris night. 

Cap. Young Romeo is't ? 

Tyh. 'Tis he, that villain Romec. 

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 
He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : 
I would not for the wealth of all this town, 
Here in my house do him disparagement , 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him, 
d is my will ; the which if thou respect, 
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, 
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 



ROIMEO AND JULIET. 209 

Tijh. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; 
I'll not endure him. 

Cap. He shall be endur'd ; 

Am I the master here, or you ? go to. 
tJe quiet, cousin, or — I'll make you quiet. 

Tyh. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
[ will withdraw : but this intrusion shall, 
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. \_ExU 

Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand ^^To Juliet. 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — 

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too muc h, 
For palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss, 

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ? 

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 

Rom. Thus, then, dear saint, let lips put up their prayer. [^a- 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. [lutes her. 

Rom. What is her mother ? 

Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 

Her mother is the lady of the house, 
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal ; 
I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
Shall have the chinks. 

Rom. Is she a Capulet ? 

dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good night: — 

I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet, and Nurso 

Jul. Come hither, nurse ; What is yon gentleman ? 

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door ? 

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that v/ouid not dance ? 

Nurse. I know not. 

Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married, 
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
The only son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only bve sprung from my only hate ! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! 

Nurse. W^hat's this ? What's this ? 

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 

Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls wiihin, Juliet 

Nurse. Anon, anon : 

Come, let's aLW&y : the strangers all are o-one. ' Exeuni 



210 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT 11. 

Romeo, struck with the beauty and character of Juliet, forgets his " Rosaline." Hi 
disengages Iiimself from Jilerculio and Benvolio, and enters Capulet's garden, to s«5> 
ao interview with Juliet. 

SCENE XL— Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 

[Juliet appears above, at a Kindow 
But, soft ! what li^ht through yonder window breaks ! 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
Arise, fair swi, and kill the envious moon, 
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she : 
She speaks, yet she says nothing ; What of that ? 
Her eye discourses, 1 -will answer it. — 
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
WTiat if her eyes were there, they in her head ? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars. 
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven 
Would through the airy region stream so bright, 
That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

Jul. Ah me ! 

Rom. She speaks : 

O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him. 
When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo 'I 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name : 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ? [Asua 

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; 
What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, 
By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
Bo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 21 J 

Retain that dear perfection which he owes, 
Without that title : — Romeo, doff thy name ; 
And for that name, which is no part of thee. 
Take all myself. 

Rom. I take thee at thy word : 

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized ; 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreenM in night, 
Go stumblest on my counsel ? 

Rom. By a name 

J know not how to tell thee who 1 am : 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
Because it is an enemy to thee. 

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound ; 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 

Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me ? and wherefore ? 
The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
And the place death, considering who thou art. 
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walla. 
For stony limits cannot hold love out ; 
And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 

Rom. Alack ! there lies more peril in thine eye, 
Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here : 
By whose direction found'st thou out this place ? 

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire ; 
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot ; yetj wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my fRc4> 
Klse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! 
Dost thou love me ? I know, thou wilt say — Ay ; 
And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, 
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
I'll frown and be perverse, aiwl say thee ray. 
So thou wilt woo ; but, else, not for the world. 



212 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
And therefore thou may'st think my'havior hght: 
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ; 
And not impute this yielding to light love, 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear. 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, 
That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by ? 

Jul. Do not swoar at all f 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
Which is the god of my idolatry. 
And I'll believe thee. 

Ro?n. If my heart's dear love — 

Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in tliPO, 
I have no joy in this contract to-night : 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night ! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? 

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mino. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, love ? 

Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again. 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
My love as deep ; the more I give to thee. 

The more I have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls witktn 

I hear some noise within ; Dear love, adieu ' 
Anon, good nurse ? — Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay, but a little, I will come again. [ Exit 

Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard, 
Being in night, all this is but a dream. 
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed, 
If that thv bent of love be honorab'o 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 2] 3 

riiy pv.rpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
By one that J '11 procure to come to thee, 
Where, and what time thou wilt perform the rite 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay. 
And follow thee my lord throughout the world. 

Nurse. \WiLliin.'\ Madam. 

Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou mean'st not v.cll, — 
I do beseech thee, — 

Nurse. [Withiji.] Madam. 

Jul. By and by, T come : — 

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief; 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul, — 

Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exi^ 

Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light, — 
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books ; 
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 

[Retiring tlowly 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's voice, 
To lure this tassel-gentle back again ! 
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine 
With repetition of my Romeo's name. 

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
Like softest music to attending ears ! 

Jul. Romeo ! 

Rom. My sweet ! 

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrov/ 

Shall I send to thee ? 

Rom. At the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. 

Jul. I sha.Yi forget to have thee still stand there, 
Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget. 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gono : 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves. 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again 
So loving-jealous of his liberty. 

Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I : 



214 &HAKSFEAR1AN READER. 

Yet 1 should kill ihee with mnch cherishing. 

Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow, 

That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. [ t^xil 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast !— 
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest I 
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [ i^Jft/ 

SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laueekce, ivith a basket. 

Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night. 
Checkering the "eastern clouds with streaks of light ; 
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, 
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours. 
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
O, micklc is the powerful grace, that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, 
But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
And vice sometime's by action dignified. 
Within the infant rind of this small flower 
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power : 
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part J 
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed foes encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude w^ill : 
And, where the worser is predominant. 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plr at. 

Enter Ro3IEO. 

Rom. Good morrow^, father ! 

Fri. Benedicite I 

What early tongue so sw'eet saluteth me ? — 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head. 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
But where unbruised youth with unstufF'd brain 
Doth couch his linr js, there golden sleep doth reigii . 
Therefore thy earUness doth me assure. 
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature, 
Or, if not so, then here I hit it i ight— 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That ^ast is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 21^) 

Fri. Heaven pardcn sin ! wast thou \vith Rosaline ? 

Kom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; 
liave forgot that name, and that name's woe. 

Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou |-»een \'\ev. ? 

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again, 
have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, 
That's by me w^ounded ; both our remedies 
U'ithin thy help and holy physic lies. 

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift ; 
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love ia set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage ; When, and where, and how, 
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray. 
That thou consent to marry us this day. 

Fri. Holy Saint Francis ! what a change Is hero I 
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
So soon forsaken ? young men's love then lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria ! what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
To season love that of it doth not taste ! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet : 
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; 
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then- 
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 

Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosahne. 

Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

Fri. Not in a grave, 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love now, 
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
Tno other did not so. 

Fri. O, she knew well, 

Tliy love did read by rote, and could not spell, 
But come, young waverer, come go with me, 
In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
For this alliance may so happy prove. 
To turn your households' rancor to pure lovo. 



21Q 



SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



*Rohi. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 
Fri. Wisely, and slew ; they stumble that run fast. [Exerini. 

SCENE IV.— .4 Street 

Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio. 

3/er. Where snould this Romeo be ? — 
Came he not home to-night ? 

Ben. Not to his fatner's ; I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted girl, that Rosaline, 
Tcnnents him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man that can write, may answer a letter. 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he cfares, being 
dared. 

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! shot thorough the 
»^ar with a love-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind 
oow-boy's butt-shaft ; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ? 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the 
courageous captain of comphments. He fights as you sing, keep^ 
time, distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim rest, one, two, 
and the third in your bosom ; the very butcher of a sills button, a 
duellist, a gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and second 
cause : Ah, the immortal passado ! the punto reverse ! the hay ! 

Ben. The what ? 

Mer. The plague of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes ; 
these new tuners of accents! — Mafoi,a very good blade I — a very 
tall man ! — a very fine girl I — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, 
grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, 
these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys 1 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes Rom.eo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, Hke a dried herring. Signior Rojne(j, hon 
jour! there's a French salutation for you. 

Rom. Good-morrow to you both. 

Mer. You gave us the counterfeit last night. 

Rom. What counterfeit did I give you ? 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not receive ? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in 
Buch case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. 

Enter Nurse, and Peter. 
Nurse. Peter ! 
Peter. Anon ? 



EOMEO AND JULIET. 217 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan's the 
Siirer of the two. 

Nurse. Give ye good-morrow, gentlemen. 

Mer. Give ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find tlie 
young Romeo ? 

Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir, 1 desire some confidence 
with you. 

Mer. Romeo, will you come to your father's ? — we'll to dinner 
thither. 

Rom. I will follow you. 

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell. 

[Exeunt Mercutio, and Benvolio. 

Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant 
was this, that was so full of his roguery ? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, tliat loves to hear himself talk ; and 
will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An 'a speaK any thing against me, I'll take him down. — 
Pray yoUj sir, a word : and as I told you, my young lady bade me 
inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but 
first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into fool's paradise, as they 
Bay, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say : for the gen- 
tlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should deal double with 
her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and 
very weak dealing. 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest 
unto thee, — 

Nurse. Good heart ! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much : oh, she 
will be a joyful woman. 

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost not mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do. protest ; whicli, as I take 
it. is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
This afternoon ; 

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell 
Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to ; I say, you shall. 

Nurse. This afternoon, sir ? well, she shall be tliere. 

Rom. Farewell ! — Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 

Peter. Anon ? 

Nurse. Peter, take my fan. and go before. [ExeuTU. 



218 SHAKSPEAR*AN READER. 



SCET^E v.— Capulet's Garden. 

Enter Juliet. 
Jul, The clock struck nine, when I did send the niirs* ; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance, she cannot meet him : — that's not so.— 
O, she is lame ' love's heralds should be thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, 
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball. 

Enter Nurse. 
O, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ? 
Now, good sweet nurse, — O ! why look'st thou so sad 1 
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily : — 
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
By playing it to me with so sour a face. 

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a while ; — 
Fye, how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I had ! 

Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news : 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse, speal? 

Nurse. What haste ? can you not stay a while ? 
Do you not see, that I am out of breath ? 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breatli 
To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? 
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay, 
Is longer man the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to th:it ; 
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance : 
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad ? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you know not how 
to choose a man. — Go thy ways, girl; serve Heaven. — What, liavfi 
you dined at home ? 

Jul. No, no : But all this did I know before ; 
What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 

Nurse. Oh, how my head aches ! what a head have 1 ! 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. — 
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, 
To catch my death with jaunting up and down? 

Jul. V faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love ? 

Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman. 
And a courteous, and a kind, and a Aandsome, 
And, I warrant, a virtuous : — Where is your mother • 

Jul. Where is my mother ? — why, she is within; 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 218 

Where should she be ? How oddly thou reply'st ? 
Your love says like an lionest gentleman^ — 
Where is your mother 1 

Nurse. Marry, come up, I trow ; 

Fs this the poultice for my aching bones ? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jul. Here's such a coil. — Come, what says Romeo ? 

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ? 

Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, 
There stays a husband to make you a wife. 
Go ; I'll to dinner : hie you to the cell. 

Jul Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, farewell. { ExeuTU 

SCENE Yl.—Friar Laurence's Cell 

Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo 

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act. 
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! 

Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrov/ can, 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, 
And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, 
Which, as they kiss, consume : The sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, 
And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
Too ewift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 

Here comes the lady ; — O, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
A lover may bestride the gossamers 
That idle in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 

Jul Good even to my ghostly confessor. 

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 

Jul As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd Hke mine, and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This Heighbor air, and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul Conceit, more rich in matter than in words 



220 SIIAKSPEARl/^A READER. 

Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
But my true love is grown to such excess, 
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work ; 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 
Till holy church incorporate two in one. \_Exeiiril 

ACT III. 

Tybalt, indignant at Romeo's intrusion at Capulet's feast, seeks occasion to quarrel with 
hiai; Romeo refuses to fight,— Mercutio cl allenges Tybalt and falls in the encounter. 
Romeo avenges his death by slaying Tybalt, and is condemned by the Duke to jjcrpetua 
bamshvient from Verona. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's Houne, 
Enter Juliet. 
JuZ. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a wagoner 
As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
Give me my Romeo : and, when he shall die, 
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine. 
That all the world will be in love with night, 
And pay no worship to the garish sun. 
O, here comes my nurse, 

Enter Nurse. 
And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks 
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
Now, nurse, what news ? 
Ah me ! why dost thou wring thy hands ? 

Nurse. Ah well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead ' 
We are undone, lady, we are undone ! — 
Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 

Jul. Can heaven be so envious ? 

Nurse. Romeo can, 

Though heaven cannot : — O Romeo, Romeo ! — 
Whoever would have thought it ? — Romeo ! 

Jul. What demon art tliou, that dost torment me tlius ? 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ay, 
And that bare little word shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. 

Nurse. I saw the wound, I eaw it with mine eyes, — 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
Pale, pale as ashes ; — I swooned at the sight. 

Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, break at oncoi 
To orison, eves ' ne'er look on liberty ! 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 221 

Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier ! 

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had I 
courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 

Jnl. What storm is this, that blows so contrary ? 
Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead ? 

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
Romeo, that killed him, he is banished. 

Jul. O heaven ! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's b.dod ) 

Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 

Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave 2 
O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Nurse. There's no trust, 

No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd. 
Shame come to Romeo ! 

Jul. Blister'd be thy torgue, 

For such a wish ! he was not born to shame ! 
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; 
For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
O, what a wretch was I to chide at him ! 

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your ccupin H 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, 
When I, thy three hours' wife, have mangled it ? — 
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain. 
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husbr.nd : 
All this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then ? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death. 
That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
But, O ! it presses to my memory, 
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished. 
That — banished, that one word — banished, 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. 
Romeo is banished. In that one word, 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juhet, 
All slain, all dead. 
Whore is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall he spsnt 
V\'"hen theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 

Nurse. Hie to youi cha Tiber : I'll find Romeo 



222 SHAKSPEAKIAN KEAuEE. 

To comfort you : I wot well where he is. 
I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 

Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight, 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. [^Exeuni 

SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo. 

Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful roan : 
Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts. 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 

Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom ? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
That I yet know not ? 

Fri. Too familiar 

[s my dear son with such sour company ; 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 

Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom 1 

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Rom. Ha ! banishment ? be merciful, say — death • 
For exile hath more terror in his look, 
Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 
'Tis death mis-term'd : calling death — banishment. 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. O deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness ! 
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince 
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law. 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment : 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is her« 
Where Juliet lives. 
Oh Father ! how hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd. 
To mangle me with that word — banishment ? 

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. 

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 

Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep off that word ; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 

Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up pliilosophy ! 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet. 

Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 

Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes '/ 

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 

Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel : 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 223 

In hoar but married, Tybalt murdered, 
Doting like me, and like me.banished. 
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear Ihy hair 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 

Fri. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thyself. 

[Knocking within 

Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. [Knoddng 

Fri. Ilark, how they knock ! — Who's there ? — Romeo, arise ; 
Thou wilt be taken : — Stay awhile : — stand up ; [Knocking 

What wilfulness is this ?— I come, I come. [Knocking. 

Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your will. 

Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my er 
I come from my lady Juliet. [rand 

Fri. Welcome then. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar ; O, tell me, holy friar, 
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
Just in her case ! 

Fri. O woful sympathy ! 

Piteous predicament ! 

Nurse. Even so lies she. 

Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
For Juhet's sake, for her sake, rise. 

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet ? how is it with her ? 
Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood ? 
Where is she ? how doth she ? and what says she ? 

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ; 
And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up. 
And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then down falls again. 

Rom. As if that name, 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me. 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Draws his sword 

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : 

Art thou a man ? thy form cries out thou art ; 
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast. 
Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order, 



224 3HAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I thougiit thy disposition better temper'd. 
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself? 
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee? 
What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive. 
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set. 
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 
Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 
And bid her hasten all the house to rest. 
Romeo is coming. 

Nurse. O, I could have staid here all the night, 
To hear good counsel : O, wliat learning is ! — 
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir : 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nun;c 

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by" this ! 

Fri. Go hence : Good night ; and here stands all your state ; 
Either begone before the watch be set. 
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man. 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you, that chances here : 
Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farev/ell ; good night. 

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. 
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
Farewell. [Exeunt 

SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber. 
Enter Romeo, and Juliet. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
N'o nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : 



ROM iO AND JULIET. 22C 

[t i;s some meteor that the sun exhales, 
To be to thee this night a torcli-bearer, 
And liglit thee on thy way to Mantua : 
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let rae be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : 
I have more care to stay than will to go ; — 
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so.— 
How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ; 
It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 

Ro77i. More light and light ? — more dark and dark our woca. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Madam ! 

Jul. Nurse? 

Nurse. Yourlady mother's coming to your chamber . [jEo;. Nursa 

Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll descend. 

[Romeo desceuds 

Jul. Art thou gone so ? my love ! my lord ! my friend ! 
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, 
For in a minute there are many days : 
O ! by this count I shall be much in years, 
Ere I again behold my Romeo. 

Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again ? 

Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall serve 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. 

Jul. O Heaven ! I have an ill-divining soul ; 
Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below. 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb ; 
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou Jook'st pale. 

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye, so do you : 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu ! [Exit Romeo 

Jul. O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee fickle : 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
But send him back. 



226 SHAKSPEAlilAN READER. 



ACT lY. 



Capulet determiuas to marry Juliet, immediately, to the County Paris ; sh« ini^ Vjres ho 
parents in vain, to defer the nratcli,— distracted at the thought of being comjielled tc 
marry a second husband wlide Romeo is yet living, she consults Friar Laurence in hei 
•I tremity. 

SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell 
Enter Friar Laurence, and Paris. 

Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very short. 

Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind ; 
Uneven is the course, I like it not 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
And therefore have I little talk'd of love ; 
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous. 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ; 
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, 
To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
Wliich, too much minded by herself alone, 
May be put from her by society : 
Now, do you know the reason of this haste ? 

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slowM. [A.W« 

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 

Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 

Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. 

Jul. What must be, shall be. 

Fri. That's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father ? 

Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. 
Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 

Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now -• — 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. Heaven shield, I shouJd disturb devotion ! 
Juliet, farewell. [Ex'l Parw 

Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done so. 
Come weep with me : Past hope, past cure, past help ! 

Fri.^ Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
[t strains me past the compass of my wits : 
( hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, 
On Thursday next be married to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 227 

^f, in thy wisdom, tliou canst give no help, 

Do tliou but call my resolution wise, 

And with this knife I'll help it presently. 

Heaven joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hand?- 

And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, 

Shall be the label to another deed, 

Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 

Turn to another, this shall slay them both • •w 

Tlierefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, 

Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 

'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 

Shall play the umpire. '' 

Fri. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we *would prevent. 
If, rather than to marry County Paris, 
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself; 
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
That cop'st with death himself to 'scape from it ; 
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-coveyed quite with dead men's rattling bones ; 
Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble 
And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow : 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
And this distilled hquor drink thou off; 
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humor, which shall seize 
Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
His natural progress, but surcease to beat : 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st ; 
The roses in thy hps and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall, 
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
Each part, iepriv'd of supple government. 
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
11 



2rZ8 SHAKSPEARIAN READEf?„ 

rijou snaJt remain full two and forty hours, 

And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 

Now when the bridegroom in the morning cornea 

To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead • 

Then (as the manner of our country is,) 

In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 

Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 

Where all the kindred of the Capulets he. 

In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 

Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ; 

And hither shall he come ; and he and I 

Will watch thy waking, and that very nigjit 

Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 

And this shall free thee from tiiis present shame , 

If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 

Abate thy valor in the acting it. 

Jul. Give me, O give me ! tell me not of fear. 

Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 

Jul. Love, give me strength ! and strength shall help afford. 
Farewell, dear father ! {EiewU 

SCENE TIL— Juliet's Cltamber. 

Enter Juliet, and Nurse. 

Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 

Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy ? do you need my help ? 

Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let the nurse tliis night sit up with you ; 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
In this so sudden business. 

ha. Cap. Good night ! 

Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet, and Nurse. 

Jul. Farewell ! — heaven knows, when we shall meet again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
Tliat almost freezes up the heat of hfe : ^ 

I'll call them back again to comfort me : — 
Nurse ! — What should she do here ? 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 229 

My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
Come, phial. — 

What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
Must I of force be married to the county ? — 
No, no ;— this shall forbid it :— lie thou there.— 

[Laying dou )i a dagger. 
What if it be a poison, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd, 
Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
I fear, it is : and yet, metliinks, it should not, 
For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me ? there's a fearful point ! 
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes iu, 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place, 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
At some hours in the night spirits resort : — 
O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears ? 
And madly play with my forefathers' joints ? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo. — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 

[She throws herself i n i\e ^«J 

Juliet being supposed dead is interred in *• the Tomb of the Cai'.ulots " 

ACT V. 

SCENE L— Mantua. A SlrecL 
Enter Roimeo. 
Rom. If 1 may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 



330 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lifts me abo^e the ground with cheerful thoiighta 
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 

Enter Balthasar. 

>Jews from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ? 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar ? 
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
How fares my Juliet ? That I ask again ; 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is w^ell, ana' nothing can ba il 
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument, 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
[ saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
And presently took post to tell it you : 
O pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! — 
Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
And hire post-horses : I will hence to-night. 

Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus • 
Vour looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd , 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter: get thee gone, 

And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Bai rHASJLft 
Well, Juliet, I will be with thee to-night. 
Let's see for means : — O, mischief ! thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
[ do remember an apothecary, — 
And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, 
Sharp misery had Vv^orn him to the bones : 
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
An alliofator stufF'd, and other skins 
Of ill-snap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rceas. 
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 
Noting his penury, to myself I said — 
An if a man did need a poison now 
Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
Here hves a caitiff wretch would se ' it hifi. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 231 

0, this same thought did but fore-run my need 
As 1 remember, this should be the house : 
Being hohday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
What, ho ! apothecary ! 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud ? 

Rom. Come hither, man. — I see, that thou art Door 
Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead. 

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
Is death, to any he that utters them. 

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, 
And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks. 
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, - 
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law ; 
The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 

Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, 
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. 

Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's souls. 
Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell : 
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh.— 
Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Fsxeurtt 

Friar Laurence learns that the messenger to Romeo has failed. lie goes to the cbaceli' 
jardto remove Juliet from the Tomb. 

SCENE III. — A CTiurch-Yard ; in it, a Monument belonging to t\i 
Capulets. 

Enter Paris, and Jiis Page, hearing flowers and a torch. 
Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and stand aloof ; — 
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
Under yon yew trees lay thee all along, 
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread, 
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me 
As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 



232 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Page, I am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the church-yard ; yet I will adventure. [Reiirei 

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. 
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
Accept this latest favor at my hands ; 
That living honor'd thee ; and, being dead, 

With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! [^The Boy whisthi. 

The boy gives warning, something doth approach. 
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites ? 
What, with a torch ! — muffle me, night, a while. [Retirti. 

Enter Romeo, and Balthasar, with a torch, mattock, t^c. 

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron 
Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light : Upon thy life I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death. 
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face : 
But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring ; a ring, that I must use 
In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : — 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do, 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
And strew this hungiy church-yard v/ith thy limbs: 
The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
More fierce, and more inexorable far. 
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take thou that 
Live, and be prosperous ; and farewell, good fellow. 

Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout ; 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retire? 

Rom. Thou detestable maw, 
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth. 
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 

[Breaking open the door of the monumen) 
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 

Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; [AJiance^ 

Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee ; 
Obey, and go with me, for tiiou must die. 

Rom. I must, indeed ; and therefore came I hither.— 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a aesperate man, 
Fly hence and leave me ; — think upon these gone ; 
Let them affright thee : — I beseech thee, youth, 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 233 

Heap not another sin upon my head, 

By urging me to fury : — O, be gone ! 

By heaven, I love thee better than myself ; 

For I come hither arm'd against myself : 

Stay not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — 

A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. 1 do defy thy conjurations. 
And do attach thee as a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at tnee, boy. 

[Thei^Jight 

Par. O, I am slain ! — [Falls.'] — If thou be merciful, 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juhet. {^Dies. 

Rom. In faith, I will : — Let me peruse this face ; — 
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris. — 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, — 
For here lies Juliet. — O, my love ! my wife ! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
And death's pale flag is not advanced there — 
Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair ? 
Here, here will I remain : O, here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
From this world-wearied flesh. 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide ! 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
Here's to my love ! — [Drinks.'] — O, true apothecary ! 
Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die. [Diei. 

Enter, at the other end of the church-yard, Friar Laurence, ivith a 
lantern, crow, and spade. 

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ? — Who's there ? 
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead ? 

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you v/ell. 

Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, 
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his hght 
To grubs and eyeless skulls ; as I discern, 
It burneth in the Capel's monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master, 
One that you love. 

Fri. Who is it ? 

Bal, Romeo. 

Fri. How long hath he been there ? 

Bal. Full half an hour. 



234 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADBR. 

Fri. Gc v\ ith me to the vault. 

BaJ. I dare not, sir : 

My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
And fearfully did menace me with death, 
If I did stay to look on his intents. 

Fri Stay then, PL go alone : — Fear comes upon nie ; 
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought, 
And that my master slew him. 

Fri. Romeo! — [AJiaruci 

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
What mean these masterless and gory swords 

To lie discolor'd by this place of peace ? [Enters .'lie monumeiiL 

Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else ? what, Paris too ? 
And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
The lady stirs. [Jtjt.iet wakes and slirs, 

Jul. O, comfortable friar ! where is my ord ? 
I do remember well where I should be. 
And there I am : Where is my Romeo ? [Noise within. 

Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
A greater Power than we can contradict 
Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
And Paris too ; come, I'll dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns ; 
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
Come, go, good Juliet. — [Noise again.] I dare stay no longer. 

[ExU 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
What's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand ? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : — 
O churl ! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, 
To help m.e after ? — I will kiss thy hps ; 
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 

To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses h iin, 

Thy lips are warm ! 

\st Watch. [Witliin.'] Lead, boy :— Which way ? 

Jul. Yea, noise ? — then I'll be brief. — O happy dagger ! 

[Snatchhig Romeo's dagger 
riiis is thy sheath : [Stabs herself.] there rust, and let me die. 

[Falls on Romeo's body^ and dies 



HIE MERCHAKT OF VENICE. 



This Day is jtislly placed among the most perfect of Shakspeare's compositions. Tlifl 
Bitster-pieoe of character, as exhibited in Shylock the Jew, would alone entitle it to tl»is 
classification. . 

The double plot of this Drama was borrowed by Shakspeare from traditionary stories 
current in his time. The Jews at that period were a despised and persecuted race ; the Poet 
has lent himself totho prejudices entertained by Christians against Jews, and yet he has 
made Shylock appear as the champion and avenger of an opiiressed people, rather tlian the 
tordid contemptible character, then thought to be the distinctive quahfication of " God's 

an<'.ient people." 

ddOd 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Duke of Venice. 

Prince of Mokocco, > ^^ .^^^^ ^^ p^^.^j^ 

Prince of Arragon, ) 

Antonio, the Merchant of Venice. 

Sassanio, his friend. 

Salanio, Salarino, GRATiAN0,/nc/j(Z5 to Antonio and Basaanio. 

Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 

Shylock, a Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock 

Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. 

Salerio, a messenger from Venice. 

Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. 

Balthazar, Stepuano, servants to Portia. 

Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 

Stlagnificoes 0/ Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants^ 
and other Attendants. 

SCENE,— ;5ar/Zi/ at YEmc-E, and partly at Belmont, the Seal of Portia, 
071 the Continent. 



236 SIIAKSPEARUN READER. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salasio 

Ant. In oooth, I know not why I am so sad ; 
It wearies me ; you say, it wearies you ; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is bom, 
I am to learn ; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail,-— 
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture fonh, 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
And every object, that might make me fear 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my brc?!^ 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
[ sliould not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
But I should think of shallows and of flats ; 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs. 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
And sec the holy edifice of stone. 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks ? 
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 
And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thougjit 
To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought. 
That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad 7 
But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 

Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it. 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 237 

Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune Df this present year : 
Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salan. Why then you are in love. 

Ant. Fye, fye ! 

Salan. Not in love neither ? Then let's say, you are sad, 
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, 
Because you are not sad. Now, by the two-headed Janus, 
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper : 
And other of such vinegar aspect, 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 

Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; 
We leave you now with better company. 

Sala7\ I would have staid till I had made you merry 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

A7it. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you. 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, when ? 
You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 

[Exeunt Salarino, a7id SiLisn 

Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
We two will leave you : but, at dinner time, 
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I will not fail you. , 

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
You have too much respect upon the world : 
They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the Fool : 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; — 
There are a sort of men, whose vis «ges 



238 SIIAKSPEARIAN READBS. 

Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 

And do a wilful stillness entertain, 

With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 

As who should say, / am Sir Oracle, 

And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! 

O, my Antonio, I do knew of these, 

That therefore only are reputed wise, 

For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 

V\\ tell thee more of this another time : 

But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 

For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 

Come, good Lorenzo : Fare ye well, a wjile; 

I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time. 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more. 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 

Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 

Gra. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable 
[n a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 

[Exeunt Gratiano, and I>3RE!5Zi>. 

Ant. Is that any thing now ? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any 
man in all Venice : His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in 
two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and, 
when you have them, they are not worth the search. 

Ant. Well ; tell me now, w^hat lady is this same. 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of ? 

Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint ra sans would grant continuance ; 
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, 
VVherein my time, something too prodigal, 
Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
And from your love I have a w^arranty 
To unburden all my plots, and purposes, 
How to get clear jf all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it , 
A.nd, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
Within the eye of honor, be assur'd 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 2'ii3 

My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one slia?. 
T shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way, with more advised watch, 
To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 
I oft found both : I urge this childish proof, 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
1 owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
As I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 

Ant. Yoa know me well, and herein spend but time 
To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wron/i^ 
In making question of my uttermost, 
Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
Then do but say to me what I should do. 
That in your knowledge may by me be done. 
And I am prest into it : therefore, speak. 

Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages : 
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
For the four winds blow in from every coast 
Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' straud^ 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 

my Antonio, had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them. 

1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea ] 
Nor have I money, nor commodity 
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, 
Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is ; and I no question make, 
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. ,' Ex-cuu 



240 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
Enter Portia, and Nerissa. 

Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this greal 
world. 

Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the 
same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I 
Bee, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
with nothing : It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the 
mean ; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency live.«» 
longer. 

Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. 
It is a good divine that follows his own instructions : I can easier 
teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the tvv-enty 
to follow mine own teaching. The brain may devise laws for the 
blood ; but a hot temper leaps over a cold decree : such a hare is 
madness, the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel, the 
cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a 
husband : — O me, the word choose ! I may neither choose whom I 
would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; so is the wdll of a living daughter 
curb'd by the will of a dead father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I 
cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men, at their death, 
have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in 
these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses 
his *:neaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be chosen by any 
rightly, but one who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is 
there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are 
already come ? 

Por. I pray thee, overname them ; and as thou namest them, I 
will describe them ; and according to my description, level at my af- 
fection. ' 

Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he does nothing but talk of his 
horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, 
that he can shoe him himself. 

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should say. And if yon 
will not have me, choose : he hears merry tales, and smiles not : I 
fear, he will prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
BO full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather be married 
to a death's head with a bone in his mouth, than to either of these. 
Heaven defend me from these two ! 

Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ? 

Por, Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. 

iVer. Vou need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords ; thev 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 241 

have acquainted me with their deteniiinations : which is, indeed, to 
return to their home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless, 
you may be won by some other sort than your father's imposition, 
depending on the caskets. 

Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, 
unless I be obtained by the manner of my fathers will : I am glad 
this parcel of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among 
them but I dote on his very absence, and I pray Heaven grant them 
a fair departure. 

Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Vene. 
tian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the 
Marquis of Montferrat ? 

Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he called. 

Ner. True, madam ; he, of all the men tliat ever my foolish eyes 
looked upon, was the JDest deserving a fair lady. 

Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of thy 
praise. — How now ! what news ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave : 
and there is a fore-runner come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; 
who brings word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can 
bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. Come, 
Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut the gate upon one 
wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt 

SCENE III.— Venice. A public Place. 
Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months, — well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 

Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
Shall I know your answer ? 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for throe months, and Antonio 
bound. 

Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. 

Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 

Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in saying he is a good 
man, is to have you understand me, that he is sufficient : yet his 
means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, 
anotlier to the Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 

hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures 

he hath, squander'd abroad ; But ships are but boards, sailors but 
znen : there be land-rats, and water-rats, v/ater-thieves, and land- 



It 

242 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the peril of water, winda^ 
and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient ; — three thousana 
ducats ; — I thinl?, I may take his bond. 

Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured, I may ; arid, that 1 may be assured, I wiB 
bethink me : May I speak with Antonio ? 

Bass. If it please you, dine with us. 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk 
with yoUj wa-lk with you, and so followinjj' : but I will not eat with 
you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto 1 
— Who is he comes here ? 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is siornior Antonio. 

Shy. \_Aside.'] How like a fawning publican he looks ' 
I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store : 
And, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe. 
Will furnish me : but soft ; How many months 
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior : [^To ANicirsa 

Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd, 
How much you would ? 

Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 

Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But hear you : 

Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow, 
Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats — 'tis a good round sum, 
Three months fiom tw<^lve, then let me see the rate. 



MERCHANT OF VEMCB. 243 

Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you } 

l^hy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
m the Rialto you have rated me 
About my momes, and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufFerance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help • 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so ; 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
And foot me, as you spur a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
Hath a dog money ? is it possible, 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key, 
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness 
Say this, 

Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last : 
You spurn'' d me such a day ; another time 
You calVd me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
Vll lend you thus much monies. 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm \ 

I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
Of usance for tny monies, and you'll not hear me : 
This is kind I offer. 

Ant. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I en^ra' t»v 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
If you repay me not on such a day, 
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the- forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 



g44 SIIAKSPEAIIIAN READER. 

Ant. Content, in faith ; Til seal to such a bond. 
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
I'll rather dwell in ray necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it. 
Within these two months, that's a month before 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

S^iy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a m.an, 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
To buy his favor, I extend this friendship ; 
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
A.nd, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. 

Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 

Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
Give him direction for this merry bond, 
And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently 
I will be with you. [Exit. 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 

Bass. I like rot fair terms, and a villain's mind. 

Ant. Come on ; in this there can be no dismay, 
My ships come home a month before the day. \_Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Bassanio obtains the loan of three thousand ducats from Shj'lock, on the merchant'! 
bond, with the penalty of " the pound of flesh," as the forfeit for non-paynent. He then 
prepares for making proposals for Portia's hand, but previous to his departure he invites hit 
Tnends to an entertainment : — Shylock is also one of the invited guests. 

liauncelot, a former domestic of the Jew's, has entered into the service of Bassanio, 
ftnd is made the messenger between Lorenzo and Jessica, who have planned an elope 
msnt, while Shvlock is engaged at Bassanio's feast. 

SCENE Y.—The same. Before Shylock's House. 

Enter Shylock, and Launcelot. 

Sfiy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize. 
As thou h'lst done w'th me : — What, Jessica '. — 



MERCHANT OF ^TENICE. 215 

And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
Why, Jessica, I say ! 

Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call ? I did not bid thee call. 

Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing wit^i- 
out bidding. 

Enter Jessica 

Jes. Call you ? What is your will ? 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; 
There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ? 
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, 
Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
For 1 did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go on; my young master doth exject 
your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun. And they have conspired together,— I will not say, you 
rhall see a masque ; but if you do, then it was not for nothing that 
my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i' the 
morning, falling out that year on Ash- Wednesday, was four year in 
the afternoon. 

Shy. What : are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica : 
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum. 
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife. 
Clamber not vou up to the casements then, 
Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces. 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
Say, I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. — 

Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; [Aiidc 

There will come a Christian by, 
Will be worth a Jewess' eye. ^Exit I aun 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha ? 

Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress ; nothing else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ; 



2i6 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 

Do, as I bid ycni, 

Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 

A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit 

Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, 
I have a father you a daughter lost. [Exit. 

Jessica elopes with Loienzo, carrying with her large sums of money, anc ral'jable jew- 
els belonging to her father. 

ACT III. 

Shylock is introduced in the following powerfully wrought scene smarting under hii 
losses, and the want of duty in his daughter. He has also learned that Antonio the Mcr- 
3hant, has suffered severe losses at sea, and instigated by revenge he determines to enfoic* 
Ihe " full penalty " of the Bond. 

SCENE I.— A street in Venice. 
Enter Salanio, and Sal a ring. 

Solar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 

Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke ; 
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
My daughter ! — O my ducats ! — O my daughter ! 
Fled with a Christian? — O my christian ducats I— 
Justice ! the law I my ducats and my daughter ! 
Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 
Now, what news on the Rialto ? 

Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd,that Antonio hath a ship 
of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas ; the Goodwms, I think 
they call the place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the car- 
cases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip report 
be an honest woman of her word. 

Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knappM 
ginger, or made her neighbors believe she wept for the deiith ol a 
third husband : But it is true, — without any slips ot prolixity, or 
crossing the plain highway of talk, — that the good Antonio, the 

honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough to keep his 

name company ! — 

Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end is he hath lost a 
ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses ! 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 247 

SaJan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross m}' prayer 
for here he com.es in the likeness of a Jew. — 

Enter Shylock. 

Hc'vV now, Shylock ? what news among the merchants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as vou, of my daugh- 
ter's flight. 

Salar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made 
ihe wings she flew withal. 

Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd ; 
and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damn'd for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 

Solan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There is more difl^erence between thy flesh and hers, tiian 
between jet and ivory ; more between your bloods, than there is be- 
tween red wine and rhenish : But tell us, do you hear whether 
Antonio have had any loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodigal, 
who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used 
to come so smug upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was 
wont to call me usurer ; — let him look to his bond ! he was wont to 
lend money for a Christian courtesy ! — let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh ; 
What's that good for ? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, it will feed 
my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a 
million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my na- 
tion, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; 
and what's his reason ? I am a Jew : Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath 
not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? 
fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the 
same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? if you prick us, do we 
not bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do 
we not die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? if we are 
Uke you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a Christian wrong a 
Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? why, re- 
V3nge. The villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
hard, but I will better the instruction. 

Enter Tubal. 

Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third cannot be matched, 
unless the devil himself turn Jew. [Exeunt Salan. cf- Salar. 

Shy. How now, Tubal, what nevv's from Genoa? hast thou found 
my daughter ? 



248 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. 

Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost mt^ 
two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never feli upon ouj 
nation till now .' I never felt it till now ; — two thousand ducats ir 
that ; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would my daughtei 
were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear ! 'would she were 
hears'd at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin ! No news of themi 
— Why, so : — and I know not what's spent in the search : Why, 
thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so much, and so much to 
find the thief ; and no satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stir- 
ring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breath- 
ing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, as I heard in 
Genoa, — 

Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 

Tub. — hath an argosy cast av/ay, coming from Tripolis. 

Shy. I thank Heaven, 1 thank Heaven : — Is it true, is it true ? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, good news : ha ! 
ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ? 

Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, four- 
score ducats ! 

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : 1 shall never see my gold 

again : Fourscore ducats at a sitting ! fourscore ducats ! 

Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company t(- 
Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it : FU plague him ; I'll torture him ; I am 
glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of your daughter 
for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : it was my tur- 
quoise ; I had it of Leah, w^hen I was a bachelor : I would not have 
given it for a wilderness of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, Tubal, fee me an 
officer, bespeak him a fortnight before : I will have the heart of him, 
if he forfeit ; for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchan- 
dise I will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; go, good 
Tubal ; at our synagogue. Tubal. - [Exeunt 

SCENE 11. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, aiul Attendant3 
The caskets are set out. 

Por. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, 
Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 218 

Ilate counsels not in such a quality : 

I could teach you 

How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 

So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 

But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, 

That I had been forsworn. 

Bass. Let me choose ; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 

Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
Wliat treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love ; 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
Where men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
Por. Well then, confess, and live. 
Bass. Confess, and love, 

Had been the very sum of my confession : 
O happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

Por. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ; 
If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
Let music sound, while he doth make his choice ; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
Fading in music. 

Music, ivhilsi Bassanio comments on the caskets to Jmnseif. 
SONG. 1. Tell me where is fancy bred, 

Or in the heart, or in the head 1 
How begot, how nourished ? 
Reply. 2. It is engender"^ d in the eyes. 

With gazing fed : and fancy dies 
In the cradle lohere it lies : 

Let us all ring fancy'' s knell , 
Vll begin it. Ding, dong, bell. 
Ail. Ding, dong, bell. 

Bass. Some good direct my judgment ! — Let me see. — 
" Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.^^ 

[Locks at the goldch cnsksi 
That may be meant 

Of the fool multitude, that choose by show : 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 



250 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

What dangerous error, but some sober brow 

Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 

There is no vice so simple, but assumes 

Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 

How many cowards, whose hearts are all as falss 

As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chin 

The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars : 

Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? 

And these assume but valor's countenance, 

Tp render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 

And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; 

Which therein works a miracle in nature, 

Making them lightest that wear most of it : 

Thus ornament is but the gulled shore 

To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 

Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 

The seeming truth which cunning times put on 

To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 

Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 

" Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.''^ 

[Looks at the sih^f :a&kel 
And well said, too ; for who shall go about 
To cozen fortune, and be honorable 
Without the stamp of merit ? 
Oh, that estates, degrees, and offices, 
Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear bono. 
Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 
How many then should cover, that stand bare ? 
How many be commanded, that command ? 
And how much honor. 
Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times. 
To be new varnished ? — " Much as he deserves.'^ — 
I'll not assume desert. — 
" Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath^ 

[Looks at the leaden caskei 
I'll none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 
Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, 
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! 
Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
And shudd'i^ng fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, 

In measure rain tny joy, scant this excess ; 

1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less, 
For fear I surfeit ! 

Bass. What find I here ? [Opening the leaden casket 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 251 

Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
Hath come so near creation ? Here's the scroll, 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 

You that choose not hy the view. 
Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content f and seek no new. 
If you he well pleased with this. 
And hold your fortune for your bliss., 
Turn you where your lady is, 
And claim her with a loving Iciss. 

A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : 

I come by note, to give and to receive. [Kissing xer 

As doubtful whether what I see be true, 

Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
Such as I am : though, for myself alone, 
I would not be ambitious in my wish. 
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich ; 

That only to stand high on your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account : but the full sum of me 
Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, 
Is an unlesson'd giri, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours to be directed. 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 
Is now coviverted : but now I was the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
Queen o'er myself ; and even now, but now. 
This house, these servants, and tliis same myseli 
Are yours, my lord. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins. 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and kdy ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanio,*'and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
For I am sure, you can wish none from me : 
And, when vour honors mean to solemnize 
12 



262 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a "wife. 

Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Y'our fortune stood upcn the caskets there ; 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls : 
For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love ; at last, — if promise last, — 
I got a promise of this fair one here. 
To have her love, provided that vour fortune 
Achiev'd her mistress. 

For. Is this true, Nenssa ? 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 

Gra. Y'es, faith, my lord. 

Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in your maxrij.ge. 

Lorenzo, Jessica and Salanio, bring a Letter from Antonio to Eassanio, ac(_ laiut 
lEg him wit'i his losses, and that the Bond to the Jew is forfeited. Eassanio is struck 
with horror at the tidirgs, and determines to leave Portia and proceed immediately to his 
friend ; Portia insists that the marriage ceremony between them, shall be first solemnized, 
and furnishes him with money more than sufficient to discharge the Bond. 

Afier the departure of Bassanio and his friends, Portia determines to follow them, an! 
assist in saving Antonio from the Jew's malignity. She writes to her cousin Bellaric, 
who is a Doctor of Law, and requests his advice on the nature of the Bond given by An- 
tiinio; fortified with Beliario's opinioB, she goes to Venice, where assuming the disguise 
of a Doctor of Law, or Counsellor, with Nerissa as her clerk, she attends the Trial of the 
.Meichuiu. 

ACT lY. 

We are now introduced to the catastrophe of this magnificent Drama— the Trial 
Scene ; — and taken as an isolated Scene, it stands perhaps the most perfect piece of com- 
position to be found in the whole range of Dramatic writing. 

SCENE I.— Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassanio, Gr.ATiAK'^ 
Salarino, Salanio, and others. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry fcr thee : thou art come to answei 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From an/ dram of mercy. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. T^l'A 

Ant. I have heard 

V our grace has ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Salan. He's ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shylock. 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face.— 

Snylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 

That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 

To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
t> Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
v^ Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 

And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 

(Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh.) 

Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 

But touchM with human gentleness and love, 

Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses ,.^ 

That have of late so huddled on his back, 

Enough to press a royal merchant down, 

And pluck commiseration of his state 

From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 

From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 

To offices of tender courtesy. 

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what 1 purpose 

And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, 

To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 

If you deny it, let the danger light 

Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 

R You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 

^ A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 

Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 

But, say, it is my humor ; Is it answer'd ? 

W-'hat if my house be troubled with a rat, 

And I be pjeas'd to give ten thousand ducats 

To have it' ban'd^'' What, are you answer'd ypt 1 

Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 

Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat : 

As there is no firm reason to be rcnder'd, 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 

So can 1 give no reason, nor I will not. 



L'5'I SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

More tlian a lodg-'d hate, and a certain loathing 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you ansv/er'd ? 

Bass. This is no dnswer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shij. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Slnj. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 

Shy. Wnat, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee t ^.rv / 

A7it. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : 
Vou may as well go stand upon the beach, 
And bid the main tiood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf. 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do any thing most hard, 
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder ?) 
His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more offers, use no further means, 
But, with all brief and plain conveniency. 
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats, 
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
1 would not draw them, T would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none 2 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 
You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you, 
Let them be free, marry ihem to your heirs ? 
Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer 
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you ; 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
Is dsarly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it : 
If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
Come here to-day. 

Salar. My lord, .ere stiys without 



MiiRCHA^'T OF VENICE. 255 

/ dJ A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ? courage yet I " 

The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all. 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of frnit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
You cannot better be em.ploy'd, Bassanio, 
Than to live still, and write "^mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyers clerk. 
Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 
Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. 

Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 

Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, * ^ 

Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 
^ ^ Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

Gra. O, be thou curs'd, inexorable dog ! 
And for thy life let justice be accusM. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse themselves 
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud :' 
Repair thy wit, good youth ; or it will fall 
To cureless ruin. J stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
Where is he ? 

Ner. lie attendeth here hard by, 

To know^ your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

Duke. With all my heart : — some three or four of you, 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
^ Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

[Clerk reads.'] — Your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt 
of your letter, I am very sick: but in the instant that your mrssenger 
came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome, his 
name is Balthasar : I ac<niainted him with the cause in controversy 
between the Jeiv and Antonio the merchant : we turn''d o'er m.ami books 
tog^tJier: he is furnish 'd icitk my opinion ; ivhich, bettered with his 



25G SHAKSrEARIAN READER. 

men learning, (iJie grcainess umereof I cannot enough commend,, 
comes zvith him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace'' s request ir 
my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to lei 
him lack a reverend estimation ; for I never hiew so young a body 
with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, luhom. 
trial shall better publish his commendation. 

Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he writes : -^^ - — 
And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 

Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 

Por. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth ! 

Por. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Vet in such a rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
Vou stand within his danger, do you not ? [Ti Aktosso 

Ant. Ay, so he says. 

Por. Do you confess the bond ? 

Ant. I do. 

Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that 

Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppcth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
I lis sceptre shows the force of temporal power 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this scepter'd sv/ay, 
[t is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
VVlien mercy seasons justice. Therefore, JeW; 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 

LAnd that same prayer doth teach us all to rende 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 

Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 

Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Por. [s he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bass. Yes, here 1 tender it for him in the Cdurt ; 
Yea, thrice the sum : if that wil not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That mahce bears down truth. And I beseech yoii. 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right do a little wrong ; 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venire 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel I 
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 

Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shy. Here it is, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thJ54:. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of llesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor.- — 
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Por. Why then, thus it is. 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young (ami ! 

Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 



255 SHAKSrEAKIAN itEADER. 

Shj. 'Tis verj- true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder»art thou than thy looks ! 

Por. Tlierefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shj. " Ay, hi? breast l 

So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? — 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh ? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your cl)arg9, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 

Por. It is not so express'd ; But what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for chanty. 

Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say ? 

Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein fortune shows aerself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brcw, 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penanc€ 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honorable wife : 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end, 
Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge. 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend. 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 

Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life •, 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest I love ; 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a daughter ; 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 2t>9 

"Would, any of the stock of Ban-abas 

Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [Asule. 

We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh *s tliine, 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shy. Most rightful judge ! 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from off* his breast ; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, prepare. 

Por. Tarry a Uttle ; — there is something else. — 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh : 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Venice. 

Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O learned judge ! 

Sh7/. Is that the law ? 

Por. Thyself shall see the act ; 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 

Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — a learned judge ! 

Shy. I take this offer then, — pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Bass. Here is the money. 

Por. Soft; 
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ; — no haste ; — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple : nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. 

Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go 

Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 

Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court 
He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! — 
I thank thee. Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall T not have barely my principal ? 



2G0 SIT.AKSPEARIAN READER. 

For. Thou shall have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it : 
I'll stay no longer question. 

For. Tarry, Jew , 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If it be prov'd against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
That, indirectly, and directly too, 
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra. Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang thyesf '2 
.\nd yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 

Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that : 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

For. What mercy can you render liim, Antonio ? 

Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else ; for Heaven's sake. 

Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ; 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, — to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter ; 
Two things provided more, — That for this favor, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd 
Unto his sor Lorenzo, and his daughter. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 261 

Duke. lie shall do this ; or else I do recant 
The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 

Por, Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say ? 

Shy. I am content. 

Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shy. I pray you give me leave to go from hence : 
I am not well ; send the deed after me, 
Aiid I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two godfathers ; 
Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [^Exit SnyLOCK. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 

Por. 1 humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet, I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
Foi, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 

The interest of the Play ends with the delivery of Antonio, and the punishment of 
ghylock^ t]\e fifth Act is occupied in explanations which naturally follow between 'he 
laatiiuj characters, growiug out of the disguises assumed by Pcrtia sad Neiissa. 



KING LEAE 



"I'he stffry of King Lear and his tliree dauj^hters, is found '.a Hohnsheds Chronicle , 
lad was originally told by Geofiry of Monmouth, who says that i^ear was tlie eldest sob 
3k Bladnd, and ' nobly governed his country for sixty years.* According to that his 
torian, he died about 800 years before Christ. Shakspeare has taken the hint for the 
?jehavior of the steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her father concerning her future mar- 
riage, from the Mirror of Magistrates, 1587. According to Steeveus, the episode of 
Glosterand his sons is borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia.^^ 

Macbeth, Othello, Hamlet, and Lear, are placed by general consent as first in the list 
of Shakspeare's inspired creations, but to the character of Lear, is yielded the pre-eminence. 

It is perhaps the most wonderfu dramatic conception on record. We have en- 
deavored to incorporate into our selections, the entire development of *his extraordinarv 
jreation. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Lear, King of Britain. 
King of France. 
Duke of Burgundy. 
Duke of Cornwall. 
Duke of Albany. 
Earl of Kent. 
Earl of Glostek. 
Edgar, son to Gloster. 
Edmund, illegitimate son te Gloster 
CuRAN, a courtier. 
Old Many tenant to Glo&ter. 
Physician. Fool. 
Oswald, stcxcard to Gonen'l. 
An Officer employed by Edmund. 
Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. 
A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. 
GoNERiL, Regan, Cordelli, daughters to Lear. 
Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldieis and 
Attendants. 
SCENE,— Britain. 



KING LEAR. 263 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. 

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, E,egan, CoRiELii., 
and Attendants. 

Lc^r. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Glostcr. 

Gh. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gloster & Er.i*rurrj. 

Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose. 
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have divided, 
In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of Cornwall, 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
We have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daughters, 
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
Interest of territory, cares of state,) 
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril, 
Our eldest-born, speak first. 

Gon. Sir, I 

Do love you more than words can wield the matter 
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor : 
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 

Cor. What shall Cordelia do ? Love, and be silent. [Asidt 

Lear. O^ all these bounds, even from this line tc this, 
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, 
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter. 
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak. 

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
xAnd prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
I find, she names my very deed of love ; 
Only she comes too short, — that I profess 
Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
VVhich the most precious square of sense possesses ; 



264 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And find, I am alone felicitate 
In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. Then poor Cordelia I i Aside 

And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's 
More richer than my tongue. 

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, 
Remains this ample third of our fair kingdom •, 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy, 
Although the last, not least ; to whose young love 
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak, 
Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
Lear. Nothing? 
Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again. 
Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
According to my bond ; nor more, nor less. 

Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech a little 
Lest it may mar your fortunes. 

Cor. Good my lord, 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
Return those duties back as are right fit. 
Obey you, love you, and most honor you. 
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed, 
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty ! 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love my father all. 

Lear. But goes this with thy heart ? 
Cor. Ay, good my lord 

Lear. So young, and so untender ? 
Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 
Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower : 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; 
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
By all the operations of the orbs, 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
Here I disclaim all my paternal care. 
Propinquity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Ilold thee, from this, for ever. 

Kent. Good my liege,— 

Lear. Peace, Kent . 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
[ lovM her ir.ost, and thought to set mv rept 



KING LEAR. 265 

On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my s'ghi I 

So be my grave my peace, as here I give [To Cordelia.. 

Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ; — Who stirs ? 

Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, 

With my two daughters' dowers digest this third . 

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 

I do invest you jointly with my power. 

Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 

That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly course, 

With reservation of an hundred knights, 

By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 

Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 

The name, and all the additions to a king ; 

The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, 

Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 

Phis coronet part between you. [Giving (he ncunk 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honor'd as my Idng, 
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd. 
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, 
When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man ? 
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dared to speak, 
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness honor's bound, 
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
And, in thy best consideration, check 
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment. 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound 
Reverbs no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
Thy safety being the motive. 

Lear. Out of my sight ! 

Kent. See better, Lear ; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 

Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king. 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain 

Lear. O, vassal ! miscreant ! 

[Laying his hand on h h sicnt 

Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Do; 
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; 



206 SHAKSFEARIAN READER. 

Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, 
ril tell thee thou dost evil. 

Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 

On thine allegiance hear me ! — 
Since tliou hast sought to make us break our vow,^ 
(Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd prido, 
To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; 
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,) 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Five days do we allot thee, for provision 
To shield thee from diseases of the world ; 
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
Upon our kingdom : if, on tlie tenth day following, 
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions. 
The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, 
This shall not be revok'd. 

Kent. Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt appear, 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, {'to Cordelu 

That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 

[ To Regan and Gokesil, 
That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu : 
Me'll shape his old course in a country new. \^Ejcii 

Re-enter Gloster : with France, Burgundy, and Attendants 

Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
We first address towards you, who with this king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least, 
Will you require in present dowTr with her, 
Or cease your quest of love ? 

Bur. Most royal majesty, 

I crave no more than hath your highness oifer'd. 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
But now her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands ; 
If aught within that little, seeming substance, 
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, 
And nothing more may fitly hke your grace. 
She's there, and she is yours. 

Bur. I know no ansv/er 

Lear. Sir, 
Will you, with those infirmities she owes. 
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, 
Take her. or leave her ? 



KlxNG LEAR. 267 

Bicr. Pardon me, royal sir ; 

Election makes not up on such conditions. 

Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power that made me, 
I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, f 7V) France 

. would not from your love make such a stray. 
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseeeli you 
'J'o avert your liking a more worthier Avay, 
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 
Almost to acknouledge hers. 

France. This is most strange *. 

That she, that even hut now was your best object. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age. 
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favor ! Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree, 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
Fall into taint : which to believe of her, 
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
Could never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your ir.ajeaty 

(If for I want that glib and oily art, 
To speak, and purpose not ; since what I well intend 
I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
No unchaste action, or dishonor'd step, 
That hath deprived me of your grace and favor : 
But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; 
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it. 
Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better 

France. Is it but this ? a tardiness in nature. 
Which often leaves the history unspoke, 
That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy, 
What say you to the lady ? Love is not love 
When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her ? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bur. Royal Lear, 

Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Lear Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 

Bur. 1 am sorry then, you have so lost a father, 
That you inust lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgnndj 



268 SHAKSPEAKIAN RCAUER. 

Since thnt respects of fortune are his love, 
I shall not be his wife. 

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor 5 
Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd ! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. 
Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
Not all the dukes of vvaterish Burgundy 
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. — 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind ; 
Thou losest here, a better where to find. 

Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her to thine ; lor we 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone, 
Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, A^iim? 

Gloster, and Attendauts 

France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father : 
To your professed bosoms I com.mit him : 
But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So farewell to you both. 

Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 

Reff, Let your study 

Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you 
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 

C'>r. Time shall unfc'd what plaited cunning hides • 
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. 
Well, may you prosper ! 

France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 

[Exeunt France and Cordelia. 

Confining ourselves to the main incidents connected with the story of Lear, — hia 
wroiv^s and sufferings, — we are necessarily compelled to omit much of the under plot 
of this Play, in which Shakspeare introduces, as a counterpart to Lear suffering under tha 
ingratitude of his children, Edgar, the son of Gloster, as a pattern of filial piety and 
love, unjustly persecuted by his father. Gloster is persuaded by the machinations of 
Edmund, to believe that Edgar seeks his life. 

The aext scene we extract, introduces Kent in the disguise of a Peasant, under the 
uame of Cams, seeking to engage himself in the service of the King, whom he fears -.^ill 
be improperly treated by Eegan and Gcceril. 



s:l^'G LEAS. 2()9 

t^CENE IV.— A Hall in the Duke of Albany's Paiacr.. 
Enter Kent, disguised. 
Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
I lat can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
May carry through itself to that full issue 
Por which 1 raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, 
(So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st. 
Shall find thee full of labors. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attenapnls. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go. get it ready. — [Esii 
on Attendant.] — How now, what art thou ? 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess ? What would'st tliou with us ? 

Kent. I do profess to be no .ess than I seem ; to serve him truly, 
that will put me in trust ; to love hiui that is honest ; to converso 
with him that is wise, and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, 
when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fisn. 

Lear. What art thou ? 

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. 

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art 
poor enough. What would'st thou ? 

Kent. Service, 

Lear. Who would'st thou serve ? 

Kent. You. 

Lrar. Dost thou know me, fellow? 

Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your countenance, wiiich I 
would fain call master. 

Lear. What's that ? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services cnnst thou do ? 

Keyit. I can keep honest counsel, ride, rim, mar a curious tale in 
telling it, and deliver a p/ain message blmitly ; that which ordinary 
men are fit for, I am qualhied in : and the best of me is diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou ? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing ; nor so old 
to dote on her for any thing : I have years on my back forty-eight. 

Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me ; If I like thee no worse 
jvfter dinner, I will not part from thee yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner.— 
Where's my knave ? my fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither ; 

Enter Steward. 
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ? 

Slew. So please you, — {Exit. 

Lear. Wliat says the fellow there ? Call the clodpoll back. — < 
Where's my fool, ho? — I think the world's asleep.— How now? 
Hrliere's that mongrel ? 

Knighi. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 



270 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I calk-.l him ? 

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would 
not 

Lear. He would not ! 

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my 
judgment, your highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious 
affection as you were wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness 
appears, as well in the general dependants, as in the duke himself 
also, and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha ! say'st thou so ? 

Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken : for 
my duty cannot be silent, when I think your highness is wrong'd. 

Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception ; 1 have 
perceived a most faint neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as 
•nine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of 
unkindness : I will further into't. — But where's my fool ? I have 
not seen him this two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool 
hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. — Go you, and tell 
my daughter I would speak wiUi her. — Go you, call hither my 
tool. — 

Re-enter Stev.^ard. 
O, you sir, you sir, come you hither : Who am I, sir ? 

Steiv. My lady's father. 

Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you dog ! you slave I 
you cur ! 

Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, pardon me. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? [Striking him. 

Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither ; you base foot-ball player. 

[Trip'pir}(T 7ip his heels 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you differences ; away, 
away : If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry : but 
away : go to ; Have you wisdom ? so. [Pushes the Steward out. 

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee": there's earnest of 
Uiy service. [Giving Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him too ; — Here's my coxcomb. 

[Giving KF^■T las cay. 

Lear. How now, my pretty knave ? how dost thou ? 

Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 

Kent. Why, fool ? 

Fool. Why ? For taking one's part that is out of favor : Nay, ar 
thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: 
There, take my coxcomb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of hia 
daun-hters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if th)u fob 



KING LEAR. 271 

ow liim, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. — How now, mincle 1 
Would I had two coxcombs, and two daughters ! 
Lear. Why, my boy ? 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself: 
There's mine ; beg another of thy daiigiiters. 
Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 

Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he must be whipp'd out, 
when Lady, the brach, may stand by the fire. 
Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 
Fool. Sirrah, 1*11 teach thee a speech. 
Lear. Do. 
Foul. Mark it, nuncle : — 

Have more tlian thou showesl, 
Speak less than thou knowest. 
Lend less than thou owest, 
Ride more than thou goest. 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Set less than thou tbrowest; 
And thou shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 
Lear. This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer ; you gave 
nie nothing for 't : Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle ? 
Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made out of nothing. 
Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to ; 
lie will not believe thee. [ To Kent. 

Lear. A bitter fool ! 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter 
fool and a sweet one ? 
Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
Fool. That lord, that counsell'd thee 
To give away thy land. 
Come place him here by me, — 

Or do thou for him stand : 
The sweet and bitter fool 
Will presently appear ; 
The one in motley here. 
The other found oiV. there. 
Lear. Dost thou call me a fool, boy ? 

Fool. Al! thy other titles thou hast given aw-^y ; that thou wast 
born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 

Fool. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when tnou gavest 
Jiy golden one away. If I speak hke myself in this, let him be 
whipp'd that first finds it so. 

Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; ['^^'^^^'"g 

For wise men are grown foppish ; 
A nd know not how their ivits to wear., 
Their manners are so apish. 



272 SHAKSPEx'.RIAN READER. 

Lear. When were you wort to be so full of songs, sirrah ? 
Fool. I have used it, nunclf;, ever since thou madest thy daughters 
tliv mother. 

Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 



And I for sorrow 



suns. 



'o^ 



That such a King should play ho-peep, 
And go the fools among. 
Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie ; 
I would fain learn to lie, 

Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 

Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters are : they'll have 
me whipp'd for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying : 
and, sometimes, I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be 
any kind of thing than a fool : and yet I would not be thee, nuncle ; 
thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle • 
Here comes one o' the parings. 

Enter Goneril. 

Lear. How now, daughter ? what makes that frontlet on ? Mi^ 
thinks, you are too much of late i' the frown. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool. 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 
To have found a safe redress : but now grow fearful, 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
That you protect this course, and put it on 
By your allowance ; which, if you should, the fault 
VVould not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep ; 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 
Might in their working do you that offence. 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 

Lear. Are you our daughter ? 

Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wis 
dom whereof I know you are fraught ; and put away these disposi- 
tions, which of late transform you from what you rightly are. 

Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this is not Lear : does 
Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are his eyes ? Either his 
notion weakens, or his discernings are lethargied. — Sleeping oi 
waking ? — Ha ! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me who 1 
am ? — Lr^r's shadow ? I would learn that ; for by the marks of 
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded 1 
had daughters. — Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 

Gon. Come, sir : 
This admiration is much o' the favor 
Of other your new pranks. 1 do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright : 



KING LEAR. 273 

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise : 

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 

Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold, 

That this our court, infected with their manners, 

Shows like a riotous inn more 

Than a grac'd palace : The shame itself doth speak 

For instant remedy : Be then desir'd 

By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 

A ^ttle to disquantity your train ; 

And the remainder, that shall still depend, 

To be such men as may besort your age. 

And know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils ! — 

Saddle my horses ; call my train togetlier, — 
Degenerate viper ! I'll not trouble tliee ; 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd ral'ulc 
Make servants of their betters. 

Eiiter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are you come ? 
[s it your will ? — [^To Alb.] — Speak, sir, — ^Prepare my horses ? 
Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend. 
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child. 
Than the sea-monster ! 

Alh. Pray, sir, be patient. 

Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : [ To Goneril 

My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
That all particulars of duty know ; 
And in the most exact regard support 
The worships of their name. — O most small fault, 
How ugly didst :hou in Cordelia show ! 
Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, 
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [Striking his hecUi, 

And thy deav judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. 

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath mov'd you. 

Lear. What ! fifty of my followers, at a clap. 
Within a fortnight ? 

Alb. What's the matter, sir ? 

Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death ! I am asham'd 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : [To Gonv.mi. 
That these hot teais, which break from me perforce. 
Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs upon thee ! 
The untented vo'jndings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
Roweep this cause again, I'll oluck you out' 



£74 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
To temper clay : — Ha ! is it come to this ? 
Let it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter, 
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find, 
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
I have cast off for ever ; thou shalt, I warrant thee. 

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Atteudanla 

ACT II. 

Lear dispatches Kent to the court of the Duke of Cornwall, to announce his inlenticn 
of taking up his residence with his daughter Regan. Tlie Duke and his wife are at the 
Castle of Gloster, where they are found by Kent. The sturdy old man chastises the 
itvsolence of a servitor of Goneril's, and is placed in the stocks, by the order d Regar 
Lear, not finding Regan at her own castle, seeks her at the Duke of Glostei's. 

SCENE— Before Gloster's Casile. 
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart Irom home, 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn'd, 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 

Lear. How ! 
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? 

Kent. No, my lord. 

Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel garters ! Horses are tied hy 
the heads ; dogs, and bears, by the neck; monkeys by the loins, and 
men by the legs. 

Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy plac-e mistook 
To set thee here ? 

Kent. It is both he and she, 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent. Yes. 

Lear. No, 1 s^y. 

Ke7it. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no ; they would not. 

Kent. Yes they have. 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lear. They durst not do't ; 
They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than murder. 
To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 



KING LEAR. 275 

Tliou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
Coming from us. 

Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
]\Iy duty kneeling, came tiiere a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
From Goneril liis mistress, salutations ; 
Deliverd letters, spite of intermission, 
Which presently they read : on whose contents 
TLcy summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse* 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
And meeting here the other messenger, 
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
(Being the very fellow that of late 
Display'd so saucily against your highness,) 
Having more man than wit about me, drew ; 
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries : 
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
The shame which here it suffers. 

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. 
Fathers, that wear rags. 

Do make their children blind ; 
But fathers, that bear bags. 
Shall see their children kind. 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors for thy daughters 
as thou canst tell in a year. 

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart ! 
Down, thou climbing sorrow, thy element's below ! 
Where is this daughter ? 

Kent. With the earl, sir here within. 

near. Follow me not ; 

Stay here. {Exit, 

Gent. Made you no more ofience than what you speak of ? 

Kent. None. 
How chance the Hng comes with so small a train ? 

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou 
hadst well deserved it. 

Kent. Why, fool ? 

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an p\-A, to teach thee there's no 
laboring in the winter. All that fellow their noses are led by their 
eyes, but blind men. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs 
down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; but the great 
one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise 
man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again : I would have 
none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. . 

Tnat, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, 

And follows but for form, 
13 



278 SHAKSrEARIAN READER. 

Will pack, when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 
But I will tarry ; the fool will stay, 

And let the wise man fly : 
The knave turns fool, that runs avv'ay ; 
The fool no knave, perdy. 
Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool ? 
Fool. Not ;■ the stocks, fool. 

Re-enter Lear, iciih Gloster. 

Lear. Deny to speak wiLh me ? They are sick ? they are vvearv 1 
They have traveU'd hard to-night ? Mere fetches 
The images of revolt and flying off! 
Fetch me a better answer. 

Glo. My dear lord, 

You know^ the fiery quality of the duke 
How unremovable and lix'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance ! plague 1 death ! confusion ! — 
Fiery ? w^hat quality ? why, Gloster, Gloster, 
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 

Glo. Well, my good lord, 1 have inform'd them so. 

Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, man ? 

Glo. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the dear father 
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service : 

Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and blood I — 

Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that— 

Xo, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : 

Infirmity doth still neglect ah office, 

W^hereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves. 

When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 

To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ; 

And am fallen out with my more headier will. 

To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 

For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore 

[Lookivfr 071 Ken2 
Should he sit here ? This act persuades me. 
That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth : 
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, 
Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, 
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum, 
Till it cry — Sleep to death. 

Glo. I'd have all weh betv/ixt you. \ExU 

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! — but, down. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. 
Good morrow to you both. 



KING LEAR. 27"? 

Corn. Hail to your grace ! 

[Kent is set at liberty 

Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason 
I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
l^eloved Regan, 

Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth 'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,— 

[ Points to Ids \emt. 
I can scarce speak t*.' ihee ; thou'lt not believe. 
Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! 

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
Vou less know how to value her desert, 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that ? 

Retr. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
WouFd fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance, 
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My curses on her ! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old , 

Natare in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led 
By some discretion, thut discerns your state 
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you. 
That to our sister you do make return : 
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 

Do you but mark how this becrmies the house ? 
Dear daughter^ I confess that I am old ; 

Age is unnecessarij : on my knees I beg, [ KueeJiitg 

That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 

Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. Never, Regan : 

She hath abated me of half my train ; 
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue 
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : — 
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones. 
You taking airs, with lameness ! 

Corn. Fye, fye, fye ! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding fiam&J 
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty. 
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
To fall and blast her pride ! 

Reg. O thp blest gods! 



278 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 

Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse ; 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thirje 
Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee 
To grudire my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
Anc^ in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
Wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

\Trumicls within 

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ? 

Corn. What trumpet's tliat ? 

Enter Steward, 

Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her letter. 
That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come ? 

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows ; — 
Out, varlet, from my sight ! 

Corn. What means your grace ? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant ? Regan, I have good hope 
Thou didst not know of 't. — Who comes here ? O, heavens. 

Enter Goneril. 

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 

Make it your cause : send zlown, and take my part ! — 

Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? — [To Gone.iil 

O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir ? How have I offended ' 
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. 0, sides, you are too tough ! 

Will you yet hold ? — How came my man i' the stocks ? 

Co7m. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 

Lear. You ! did you ? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
[f, till the expiration of your month, 
You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
I am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear Return to her, and fifty men dismis^'cl i 



KING LEAR. 279 

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 

To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 

To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 

Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her ? 

Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 

To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 

To keep base life afoot : — Retiirn with her ? 

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 

To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 

Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad ; 
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
We'll no more meet, no more see one another : — 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter , 
Or, rather a disease that's in my flesh. 
Which I must needs call mine ; thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. 
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot. 
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
Mend, when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure : 
I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
I, and my hundred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit Vv elcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
For those that mingle reason with your passion 
Must be content to think you old, and so — 
But she knows wliat she does. 

Lear. Is this well spoken now 2 

Reg, I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty followers ? 
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many ? sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number ? How, in one house, 
Should many people, under two commands, 
Hold amity ? 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance, 
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 

Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanc'd to slarli vcn 
We could control them : If you will come to me, 
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
To bring but tive and twenty ; to no more 
Will I give place, or notice. 

Lear. I gave you all — 

Reg. And in good time you gave it 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
But kept a reservation to be follow'd 



290 bHAKSiEARIAN READER. 

With such a number : What, must I come to you 
With live and twenty, Regan ? said you so ? 

Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with me. 

Lear. Tnose wielded creatures yet do look well favor'd, 
When others are more wicked ; not being the worst, 
Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; \To Goxeril 
Thy fifty yet dotli double five and twenty. 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord ', 

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
To follow in a house, w-here twice so many 
Have a command to tend you ? 

Reg. What need one ? 

Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest bep-gars 
Are in the poorest thing superfluous ; 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; 
If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'sl, 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true need, 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need • 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
0, let not woman's weapons, water-drops, 
Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both, 
That all the world shall — I will do such things, — • 
What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep, 
No, I'll not weep : 

I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws. 
Or ere I'll weep ; — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 

[Exeunt Lear, Glostei , Kent 3iid Fool 
Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 

[Sloj'm heard at a distance 

Reg. This house 

Is little ; the old man and his people cannot 
Be well bestow'd. 

Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put 
Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. 
Reg-. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I purpotj'd. 

Where is mv lord of Gloster ? 



AING LEAK. 281 



Re-enter Glcster. 

Corn. Follow'il Ihe old man forth : — he is return'd. 

Glo. The king is in high rage. 

Coj-n. Whither is he going ? 

G-lo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not whither. 

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself. 

Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 

Glo. Alack, the- night comes on, and the bleak winds 
Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
There's scarce a bush. 

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men, 

The injuries, that they themselves procure. 
Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ; 
He is attended with a desperate train ; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night : 
My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. Exeunt, 

ACT III. 

Lear, cast off by his pitiless daughters, wanders distracted through the coratry, accoo 
panied by his faithful Fool. Kent is released, and immediately proceeds in search of hii 
royal master. 

SCENE. — A Heath. A storm is heard, loitli thunder and lightning. 

Enter Leak, and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! 
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout 
Till you have drench'd our steeples ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires. 
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
Singe my white head ! And thou, all shaking thunder, 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germins* spill at once. 
That make ingrateful man ! 

Fool. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's s 
"ttight pities neither wise men nor fools. 

Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain t 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
I HLwer gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
Vou owe me no subscription ; why then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
A. poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : — 

* Seeds begun to sf.rout. 



882 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But yet I call you servile ministers, 

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 

Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head 

So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! — 

IVo, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nc thing 

Enter Kent. 

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love niglit. 
Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
And make them keep their caves : Since I was man, 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
The affliction, nor the fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods, 

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads. 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; 
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue • 
Caitiff, to pieces shake, 
That under covert and convenient seem.ing 
Hast practis'd on man's life ! — Close pent-up guilts. 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
More sinn'd against, than sinning. 

Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
Repose you there : while I to this hard house, 
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in,) return, and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn. — 

Como on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold ? 
I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ? 
The art of our necessities is strange, 
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That's sorry yet for thee. 

Fool. He that lias a Utile tiny ivit, — 

With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, — 
Must make content with his fortune Jit ; 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this hovel. 

^Exeunt Lear, Kent, and YkhA 



KINi LEAR. 283 

Edgar escapes from the pursuit of his Father, and assumes tne disguise of a " Ton 
* Bedlam," or madman. He finds shelter on the deserted Heath, to which Lear ba» 
kdndered. He encounters the King. Tlie assumption of madness by Edgar contrasts 
rerr strikingly with the real insanity of Lear, in the two following scenes. 

SCENE.— A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good r y lord, en!er : 
The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
For nature to endure. \ Storm still 

Lear. Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Wilt break my heart ? 

Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, enter. 

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm 
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; 
But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free, 
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
For lifting food to't ? — But I will punish home : — 
No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure : — 
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! — 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that, — 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here, 

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own jase ; 
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go hi : 
In, boy ; go first. — [To the Fool.] — You houselef;s poverty, — 
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — [Fool g<)es in 
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en 
Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
And show the heavens more just. [Tom ! 

Edgar.— IWilhin.l — Fathom and half, fathom and half! Pool 

[ The Fool rvns out of the hovel 



284 SHAKSrEARlAN READEH 

Fool. Come not in here, uncle, here's a spirit. Help me, lielp 
me! 

Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor Tom. 

Kent. Wliat art then that dost grumble there i' the straw 1 
Come forth 

Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. 

Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
Tnrough the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.- - 
Humph ! go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 

Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
And art thou come to this ? 

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom the foul fiend 
hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, 
over bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and 
halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge ; made him proud 
of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch bridges, to 
course his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five wits ! Tom's 
a-cold. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! Do 
poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : There could 1 
have hira now, — and there, — and there, — and there again, and there. 

[Storm continues. 

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pass ? — 
Could'st thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had all been ashamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdu'd nature 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
It is the fashion, that discarded fathers 
Should have this little mercy on their flesh ! 
Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : Obey thy parents ; keep thy 
wurd justly ; swear not ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array 
Tom's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been ? 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; that curled my 
hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; swore as many oaths as I spake 
v^ords, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. 

[ Storm still continues. 

Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with 
thy uncover'^ body this extremity of the skies. — Is man no more 
than this ? Consider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the 
beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha ! here's 
'iiree of us are sophisticated ! — Thou art the thing itself: unaccom- 



KING LEAR. 285 

modiited mim is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animaJ as thou 
art. — OIF, off, you lendings : — Come ; unbutton here. — 

[ Tearing off rds doilies. 
Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty night to 
Bwim in. — Look, liere comes a walking fire. 

Gloster is moved to pity the wrongs inflicted on his royal master. He incurs the dis 
pleasure of Cornwall and Regan, is dispossessed of his Castle, and follows it ; :.rsuit of 
Loar. 

Entej' Glostek, with a torch. 

Lear. What's he ? 

Kerit. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? 

Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? 

Eilg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tad- 
pole, the wall-newt, and the water ; who is whipped from tything to 
tything, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath had three 
suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to 
wear. 

But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
Have hven Tom's food for seven long year. 

Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fier d ! 

Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? 

Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
That it doth hate what gets it. 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 

Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
To obey all your daughters' hard commands : 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors. 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, 
And bring you where both fire and wood is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher :— 
What is the cause of thunder ? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; 
Go into the house. 

Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Thebari ',— 
What is your study ? 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

Kent^ Importune him once more to go, my lord. 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glo. Canst thou blame him ? 

His daughters seek his death : — Ah, that good Kent ! — 
He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! — 
Thou say'st the king grows mad : I'll tell thee, friend, 
I am almost mad mvself : I had a son. 



286 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Now ontlaw'd from my blood : he sought my hfe, 

But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend, — 

No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Sta. m continuea. 

The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this ! 

I do beseech your grace. 

Lear. O, cry you mercy, 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

E<Jg. Tom's a-coid. 

Glo. In, fellow, there to the hovel : keep thee warm. 

Lear. Come, let's in all. 

Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him ; 

r will keep still with my philosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him tike the fellow. 

Glo. Take you him on. 

Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 

Lear. Come, good Athenian. 

Glo. __ No words, no words : 

Hush. 

Edg. Cl:Kd Rowland to the dark tower came, 

His word was still, — Fie, f oh, andfum, 
I smell the Mood of a British man. {Exeuiu 

SCENE VI. 

A Chamher in a Farm-House, adjoining the Castle . 
Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 

Glo. Here is better than the open air ; take it thankfully : I wiH 
piece out the comfort with what addition I can : I wiJl not be long 
from you. 

Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to liis impatience : 
— The gods reward your kindness ! [Exit Gloster. 

Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is an angler in the 
lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman be a gentlo 
man, or a yeoman ? 

Lear. A king, a king ! 

Fool. No : he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son ; foi 
he's a mad j^eoman, that sees his son a gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand witli red burning spits 
Come hizzing in upon them : — 

Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 

Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straigl' t : — 
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer ;— — [To Edgar. 

Thou, sapient sir, sit here. — [To the Fool.] — Njw, you she foxes !— 

Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
Wantest thou eves at trial, mac am ? 



KING LEAR. 281 

Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me : — 
Fool, Her boat hath a leak, 
And she must not speak 
Why shx dares not come over to thee. 
Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not so amaz'd : 
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? 

hear. I'll see their trial first : — Bring in the evidence.— 
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — {To Edga.r 

And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [7'o the Fcol, 

Bench by his side : — You are of the commission, ^JTo Kent. 

Sit you too. 

Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 

Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 

Pur ! the cat ic gray. 

Lear. Arraign her first : 'tis Goneril. I here take my oath beforp 
this honorable assembly, she kicked the poor king her father. 

Fool. Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Goneril ? 

Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool. 

Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim 
What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place ! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape ? 

Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 

Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 

Ed^. My tears begin to take his part so much, 
Theyul mar my counterfeiting, [As«fc 

Lear. The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 

Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : — Avaunt, you curs! 

Be thy mouth or black or white, 
Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
riound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ; 
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
Tom will make them weep and wail : 
For, with throwing thus my head : 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 

Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market 
towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her 
heart : Is there any cause in nature, that makes these hard hearts ? 
—You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred ; only. I do not 



268 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

like the fasliion of your garments : you will say, they are Persian 
attire ; but let them be changed. [To Edgar. 

Kent. Now, good ray lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the curtains : So, so, 
BO : We'll go to supper i' the morning : So, so, so. 

Fool. And I'll go tc bed at noon. 

Re-enter Gloster. 

GIo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my master ? 

Kent. Here, sir ; iDut trouble him not, his wits are gone. 

Glo. Good friend I pr'ythee take him in thy arms ; 
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him : 
There is a litter ready ; lay him in't. 
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master ; 
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life. 
With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up ; 
And follow me, that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : — 

This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
Which, if convenience will not allow. 
Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master ; 
Thou must not stay behind. [ To the Fool. 

Glo. Come, come, away. 

[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing off the Kiso. 

Edg. When w^e our betters see bearing our v/oes. 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ; 
Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind : 
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip. 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now. 
When that, which makes me bend, makes the king bow ; 
He childed, as 1 father'd I — Tom, away : 
Mark the high noises : and thyself bewray. 
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee. 
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
What v/ill hap more to-night, save 'scape the king ! 
Lurkj lurk. ^Exit. 

ACT IV. 

Regan and Cornwall issue orders to Edmund to seek out his Father, and bung him 
back to the Castle. Gloster is overtaken, and is punished for his commiseration towards 
tlie Kin<,', by the loss of his eyes. In this state he is carried back V) the Heath, and is there 
aoccanterod by his Son Edgar, 



KING LEAR. 289 

SCENE I.— The Heath 
Enter Edgar 
Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, 
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, 
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune 
Standi still in esperance, lives not in fear : 
The lamentable change is from the best ; 
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, 
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace ! 
Tlie wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here ? — 

Enter Gloster, led hy an Old Man. 

My father, poorly led ? World, world, O world ! 
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
Life would not yield to age. 

Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, aiid i"0^ 
father's tenant, these fourscore years. 

Glo. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone : 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; 
I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis seen. 
Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear sou Edgar, 
The food of thy abused fither's wrath ! 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I'd say, I had eyes again ! 

Old Man. How now ? Who's there ? 

Edg. [Aside.] O gods ! who is't can say, / am at the worst ? 
1 am worse than e'er i was. 

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 

Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: The worst is not. 
So long as we cp.n say, This is the worst. 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? 

Glo. Is it a beggar man ? 

Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 

Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
r the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
Which made me think a man a worm : My son 
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him. 

Edg. How should this be ? 

Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
Ang'ring itself and others. — [Aside.] — Bless thee, master! 

Glo. Is that ihe naked follow ? 

Old Man. Ay, my lord. 



!490 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my saks, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
r the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Whom I'll entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 

Glo. 'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
Above the rest, be gone. 

Old Man. Til bring him the best 'parel that I have, 
Come on't what will. [Exit 

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. — I cannot daub it further. [Aside, 

Glo. Come hither, fellow. 

Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thy sw.vt eyes, they 
bleed. 

Glo. Know'st thou the ^vay to Dover ? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot-paili. Poor Tom 
hath been scared out of his good w^its : Bless the good man from the 
foul fiend I 

Glo. Here, take this purse, thon whom the heaven's plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes : that J am wretched. 
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
Let the superfluous, that will not see 
Because he doth not feel, feel your po\'/Ci- quickly ; 
So distribution should undo excess. 
And each man have enough. — Dost thor. know Dover ? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bei-«L'ing hoad 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
Bring me but to the very brim of it. 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear. 
With something rich about me : from that placo 
I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm ; 

P)or Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt, 

Edgai, »tii: unknown to his father, leads him to a spot wJiicI h<^ bcanC "fully (iescribes aa 
being Dove: ClilTs. 

The whole scene is exquisitely wrought up. 

SCENE YL— The Country near Dover. 

Re-enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant. 

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill ? 
Edg. You do climb up it now : look how we labor. 
Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 
Edg. Horrible steep: 

flark, do you hear the sea ? 

Glo. No, truly. 



KJNG LEAR. 29] 

Edg. Why, l.ien j^our other senses grow Imperfect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

GIo, So may it be, indeed : 

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd : and thou speak'st 
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 

Edg. You are much deceiv'd : in nothing am I chang'd, 
But in my garments. 

Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 

Edg. Come on, sir : here's the place ; — stand still — How fearful 
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air 
Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade 1 
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head : 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark 
Diminish'd to her boat ; her boat a buoy 
Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge, 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more, 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple'down headlong. 

Glo. Set me where you stand. 

Edg. Give me your hand : You are now within a foot 
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

Glo. Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, is another purse ; in it, a jewel 
Well worth a poor man's taking : Go thou further off; 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seenu io go, 

Glo. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
Is done to cure it. 

Glo. O you mighty gods ! 

This world I do renounce ; and, in your sights 
Shake patiently my great aflliction off: 
If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar lives, O, bless him !— 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along, 

Edg. Gone, sir? farewell. — 

And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of hfe, when life itself 
Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought, 
By this, had th )ught been past. — Alive, or dead ? 
Ho, you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir ? — speak ! 



292 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Thus might he pass indeed : — Yet he revives : 
What are you, sir ? 

Glo. Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air 
So many fathom down precipitating. 
Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg : but thou dost breathe ; 
Hast heavy substance ; bleedst not ; speak'st; art sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude, 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell ; 
Tby life's a miracle : Speak yet again. 

Glo. But have I fallen, or no ? 

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn : 
Look up a-height ; — ^the shrill-gorg'd lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit, 
Tc end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort, 
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm : 

Up : — So ; — How is't ? Feel you your legs ? You star d. 

Glo. Too well, too well. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness. 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you ? 

Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes 
Were two full moons ; he had a thousand noses. 
Horns whelk'd, and wav'd hke the enridged sea ; 
It was some fiend : Therefore, thoix happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honors 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I'll bear 
Affliction, till it do cry out itself. 
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say, 
The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place. 

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here S 
Enter huAR, fantastically dressed up withf,owers. 
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
[lis master thus. 

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining : 
I am the king himself. 

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — Give the word. 

Edg, Sweet marjoram. 

Lear. Pass. 

Glo. I know that voice. 

heai Ha ! Gonaril ! — with a white beard ! — They flatter'd me 



KING LEAR. 293 

like a dog ; and told me, I had whUe hairs in my beard, ere the black 
ones were there. To say aij and no, to every tiling I said ' — Ay and 
no too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, 
and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not 
peace at my bidding ; there I found them, there I smelt them out. 
Go to, they are not men o' their words : they told me I was every 
thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember : 
Is't not the king ? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life. 

Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 

Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality. 

Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. — Read thou this c'iia 
lenge ; mark but the penning of it. 

Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. 

Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 

Lear. Read. 

Glo. What, with the case of eyes ? 

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes in your r.?ad, nor 
no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, yo 
purse in a light. Yet you see how this world goes. 

Glo. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how this world goes, 
with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see how yon' jusiice rails upon 
yon' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear : Change place-o ; and, handy- 
dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief ?— Thou hast seen -i 
farmer's dog bark at a beggar ? 

Glo. Ay, sir ? 

Lear. And the creature run from the cur ? 
There thou might'st behold the great image of authority : a dog'* 

obeyed in office. — 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold. 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks : 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce k. 
None does offend, none. I say, none ; I'll able 'em ; 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
And, hke a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now, now ; 
F'ull off my boots : — harder, harder ; so. 

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
Reason in madness ! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 



201 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, 
We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark mo. 

Glo. Alack, alack, the day ! 

Lear. When we are born, w^e cry, that we are coma 

To this great stage of fools ; This a good block ? — 

It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horses with felt : I'll put it in proof; 
Aud when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 

Enter a Gentleman, witli Attendants. 

Gent. O, here he is ; lay hand upon him. — Sir, 
Your most dear daughter 

Lear. No rescue ? What, a prisoner ? I am even 
The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 
You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon, 
I am cut to the brains. 

Gent. You shall have any thing. 

Lear. No seconds ? all myself? 
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt. 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots. 
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 

Gent. Good sir, — 

Lear, T will die bravely, like a bridegroom ; What ? 
I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
My masters, know you that ? 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 

Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get it, you sliall goJ 
it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. [Exit running ; Attendants /oZ/oz^. 

Cordelia learns the unnatural treatment her Father has received from Regan and Gon- 
eril, and proceeds with her husband, the King of France, and a numerous army, to rescue 
Lear, and punish her sisters. She finds the wretched old King, in great misery, and 
entirely bereft of reason. He is conveyed to the French camp. 

SCENE. — A Tent in the French Camp. — Lear on a Bed, asleep i 

Physicians, Gentlemen, and others attending. 

Enter Cordelia, and Kent. 

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, 
To match ihy goodness ? My life will be too short, 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. 
All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited : 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
I pr'ytbee, put them otf. 

Ken', Pardon me, dear madam ; 



KING LEAR. 295 

Vet to be known, shortens my made intent : 
My boon I make it, that you know me not, 
Till time and I think meet. 

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — Plow does tlie king ? 

[To the Physician 

Plujs. IMadam, sleeps still. 

Cor. O you kind gods, 
Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up, 
Of this child-changed father ! 

Phijs. So please your majesty, 

That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long. 

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 

Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep. 
We put fresh garments on him. 

Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him 
I doubt not of his temperance. 

Cor. Very well. 

Phys. Please you, draw near. 

Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration, hang 
Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made ! 

Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakoa 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be expos'd against tlie warring winds ? 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder ? 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross-lightning ? to watch (poor perdu !) 
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 
Though he had bit me, should have stood that nigh 
Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father, 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 
In shorty and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him. 

Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 

Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your majesty ^ 

Lear. You do me wong, to take me out o'the grave : — 
Thou ait a soul in bhss ; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 

Cor. Sir, do you know me ? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you die ? 

Cor. Still, still, far wide ! 

Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 

Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I ? — Fair daylight?— 
I jsa mightily abns'd. — I should even die with pity, 



290 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

To see another thus, — I know not what to say.— » 
I will not swear, these are my hands : — let's see 
I feel this phi prick. 'Would I were assur'd 
Of my condition. 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir. 

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me ; — 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 

I am a very foolish fond old man, 
Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly, 
1 fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man ; 
Yet I am doubtfux ; for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is : and all the skill I have 
Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me * 
For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 

Cor. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet ? Yes, 'faith. I pray^ 'veep no! : 
If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 
I know, you do not love me ; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
You have some cause, they have not. 

Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Aja T in France ! 

Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 

Lear. Do not abuse me. 

Phys. Be comforted, good madam ; the great rage. 
You see, is cur'd in him : and yet it is danger 
To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more, 
Till further settling. 

Cor. Will't please your highness walk ? 

Lear. You must bj..i with in(» 

Pray now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish. 

[Exeunt Lear, Coedelia, Physician, and Attend 

ACT V. 

Lear is restored to reason, and aided by tlie forces of Franff), .nakes war agiinst th< 
Dukes of Cornwall and Albany, whose armies are led on by Edmund, created by thsa 
Earl of Gloster. The King, and Cordelia are defeated, and made prisoners. 

SCENE.— T/ie British Camp near Dover. 

Enters in conquest^ with drum and colors, Edmund ; Lear, and Coa« 
DELIA, as prisoners ; Officers, Soldiers, <^c. 
Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard j 
Until their greater pleasures first be krown 
That are to censure them. 



1 



£1NG LEAR. 297 

Cor. We are not t!ie first, 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.— 
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ? 

Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's aw^ay to prison : 
We tT/o alone will sing like birds i' the cage : 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, 
And ask of thee forgiveness : So we'll live, 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, — 
Who loses, and who wins ; who's in, who's out • — 
And take upon us the mystery of things, 
As if we were Heaven's spies : And we'll wear out, 
In a wall'd prison^ packs and sects of great ones, 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 

Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee j 
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven, 
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
They shall not make us weep : we'll see them starve first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear, and Cordelia, guarded. 

Lear and his daughter are conveyed to Prison, and orders are given hy Albany ta 
hang Cordelia. 

Punisament now overtakes the guilty Refjan and Goneril. In pursuing thei. cr.Iaw 
ful love towards Edmund, Regan, through jealousy, poisons her sister, and then dies by 
ler own hand. 

Edmund receives the reward of his crimes from Edgar, who challenges him to singU 
eombat and slays him. Gloster is reconciled to his son, and tlie Play ends with the deauh 
■if Lear. 

SCENE.— A Prison. 

Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms ; Edgar, OiHcer. 
and others. 

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, you are men of stones ; 
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
Tnat heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone for e rer ! — 
I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
She's dead as earth : — Lend me a looking-glass ; 
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
Why, then she lives. 

Kent. Is this the promis'd end ? 

Edg. Or image of that horror ? 

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so, 
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
That ever I ha\'c felt. 

Kent. O my good master ! [ Knee'ling 



298 SIIAKSPEARIAN RF^DEH. 

Lear. Pr'yJiee. away. 

Kdg. 'Tis noblo Kent, yonr frieiwl 

Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all ! 
I might have sav'd her ; now she's gone for ever ! — 
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha ! 
What is't thou say'st ? — Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low : an excellent thing in woman : — 
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 

Of. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 

J^ear. Did I not, fellow 1 

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion 
1 would have made them skip : I am old now, 
And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you ? 
Mine eyes are none o' the best : — I'll tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, 
One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull sight : Are you not Kent ? 

Kent. The same. 

Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 

Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
He'll strike, and quickly too : He's dead and rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very m.an ; — 

Lear. I'll see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of difference and deca} 
Have follow'd your sad steps. 

Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else ; all's cheerless, dark, and dead.y.— 
Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
And thou no breath at all ? O, thou wilt come no no re. 
Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir — 
Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips, — 
Look there, look there ! — [ Ht die& 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S MEAM. 



This Play is considered by the critics to have " all the merit of entire originality of 
pot and incident." The traditions of all Europe and the East, furnished the leading 
dea of fairy character, while classical and mythological history has beea drawn upon fo» 
he heroical personages. 

Our selections from this brilliant poetical composition, are confined to the action of 
the Drama, as connected with the " princely loves " of Theseus and Hippolyta, and the 
Athenian Lovers. The humorous under-plots we are unwillingly compe.'le<? to 9mit fions 
want (ff «pace. 



PERSONS REPRESENTKD. 

Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
Egt.vs, father to Hermia. 

Dir/^sJ^" '-"'■'* ""■"»■ 

Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseaa. 

Quince, the carpenter. 

Snug, the joiner. 

Bottom, the weaver. 

Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Snout, the tinker. 

Starveling, the tailoi , 

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseua 
Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
Oberon, king of the fairies. 
TiTANiA, queen of the fairies.- 
Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a fairy. 
Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard-seed, fairies. 
Fyramus, Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, Lion, characters in the In* 
terlnda performed by the Clowns. 

tther Fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 

SCENE, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 
14 



800 SHAESPEARIAN READER. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of Theseus, 
Enter Theseus, Hipfolyta, Philostrate, and Attendants. 

I^yie. Now, fair Hippol3^a, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
A r.ot^er moon ; but, oh, methinks, how slow 
Tliis old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager. 
Long withering out a young man's revenue. 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves, in nights j 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time , 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 

The pale companion is not for our pomp. — j Exit PhtijOSTR a.TB 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
But I will wed thee in another key, 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling 

Eyiier Eseus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. 

Ege. Happj be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 

The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with thee "i 

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — 
Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord, 
This man hath my consent to marry her : — 
Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke, 
This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child : 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
Thou hast by moonlight at her v/indow sung, 
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits, 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats ; messengers 
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth : 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me. 
To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke, 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 



1 



midsummer-night's dream. 301 

Consent to mairy with Demetrius, 
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ; 
As slie is mine, I may dispose of her : 
Which shall be either to this gentleman, 
Or to her death ; according to our law. 
Immediately provided in that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia ? be advis'd, fair maid : 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax. 
By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lysander. 

The. In himself he is : 

But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes. 

The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. 

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts : 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst that may befal me in this case. 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
Chanting taint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord. 
The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new moon, 
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
Upon that day either prepare to die. 
For disobedience to your father's will ; 
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would : 
Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
For aye, austerity and single life. 



B02 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Dem. Relent, i-:weet Hermia ; — And, Lysander, yieW 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true he hath my leva 
And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he. 
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd. 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius ; 
Ana, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
Why should not I then prosecute my right ^ 
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
Made love to Neda's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof 
But, being over-full with self-afFairs, 
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. — 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
(Which by no means we may extenuate,) 
To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
Come, m/ Hippolyta ; What cheer, my love ? 
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 

{Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and tram 

Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek so pale ? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 

ller. Belike for want of rain ; which I could well 
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 

Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history. 
The course of true love never did run smooth : 
But eitlv3r it was different in blood, 
Or else misgrafted, m respect of years : 
Or elsi^ d: stood upon the choice of friends : 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT S DREAM. S03 

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it ; 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the hghtning in the coUied* night. 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd. 
It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then let us teach our trial patience, 
Because it is a customary cross ; 
As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs, 
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, Heniife 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child ; 
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then. 
Steal forth thy father's liouse to-morrow night , 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

Her. My good Lysandcr ! 

I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
By his besA arrow with the golden head ; 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ; 
By all the vows that ever men have broke. 
In number more than ever woman spoke ; — 
In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 

Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 

Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
Vour eyes are load-stars ; and your tongue's sweet air. 
More tunable than lark in shepherd's ear. 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching ; O, were favor so ! 

* Black. 



804 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Yours would I catcli, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 

My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, 

My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 

Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 

The rest I'll give to be to you translated. 

O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 

You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 

Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such still I 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move ! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

Hel. None, but your beauty ; 'Would that fault v/ere mine ! 

Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face ; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : 
O then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 

Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold • 
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal.) 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie. 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow ; pray thou for us, 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — 
Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [ Exit Heum 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! \Exit Lia 

Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
He will not know what all but he do know. 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 



I 



jiidsummer-night's dream. i^i'5 

Not hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; 

Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 

And therefore is love said to be a child, 

Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 

As waggish boys in games themselves forswear, 

So the boy Love is perjur'd every where ; 

For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,* 

He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 

And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 

So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 

Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night. 

Pursue her; and for this intelligence 

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 

But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 

To have his sight thither, and back again. £xii 

ACT II. 

SCENE I.— A Wood near Athens. 

E7iter a Fairy at 07ie door, and Puck ai anoihei 

PdcJi. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 

Over park, over pale. 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 

I do wander every where. 

Swifter than the moones sphere ; 

And I serve the fairy queen, 

To dew her orbs upon the green : 

The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 

In their gold coats spots you see ; 

Those be rubies, fairy favors, 

[n those freckles live their savors : 
I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lobf of spirits, I'll be gone : 
Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-nighf » 
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
A lovely boy stol'n from an Indian king ; 
She never had so weet a changeling : 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 

♦ Eyes. t A term of contemnt. 



306 SKAKSPEARIAN READER. 

But shC; perforce, withholds the loved boy, 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove, or green, 
By fountain clear or spangled star-light sheen,* 
But they do sauare ; that all their elves, for fear. 
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 

Fai. Either 1 mistake your shape and making quite 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Good-fellow : are you not he, 
That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skim milk ; and sometimes labor in the quern, 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ; 
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ? 
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good luck 
Are not you he ? 

Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
VVhen I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
Neighing in likeness of a silly foal : 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
In very likeness of a roasted crab ;f 
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip I under her, down topples she. 
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe ; 
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze and swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon. 

Fai. And here my mistress : — Would that he were gone ! 

Erisr Oberon, at one door with Ms train, and Titania, at anotfm 
with hers. 

Ohe. ni met by moon-light, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairy, skip hence. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
And never, since the middle summer's spring. 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
Or on the beached margent of the sea, 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
But with thy brawls thou hasf disturb'd our sport 

Chin nsj, t Wild appi«. 



MIDSUMMER-KIGHT S DREAM. HOI 

Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land, 
Have every pelting river made so proud, 
That they have overborne their continents : 
The ox hath therefore btretch'd his yoke in vain, 
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green cora 
Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard : 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
The nine men's morris* is fiU'd up with mud ; 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable ; 
The human mortals want their winter here ; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest : — 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
And thorough this distemperature, we see 
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown, 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer, 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries ; and the mazed world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is which 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension ; 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then : it lies in yon : 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
I do but beg a little changeUng boy, 
To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
Marking the embarked traders on the flood • 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die, 
And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy : 
And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 

Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ? 

Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round, 

* Holes made for a game played by beys. 



308 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And see our moon-light revels, go with us ; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away : 
We shall chide down-right if 1 longer stay. 

{Exeunt Titania, and he? train 

Ohe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this grove, 
Till I torment thee for this injury. — 
My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back. 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 

Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st net ) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the vvat'ry moon ; 
And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, — 
Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, — 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once ; 
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid. 
Will make or man or woman sadly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again. 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. ; Exu. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep. 
And drop the hquor of it in her eyes : 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
On. meddling monkey, or on busy ape,; 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love, 
And ere I take this charm ofi" from her sight, 
(As I can take it, with another herb.) 
I'll make her render up her page to me. 



MIDSUMMER-NIGHT S DREAM. 309 

But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Demetrius is pursued by Helena, who persists in proffers of her love, which CemetrJM 
Itill rejects. Oberon listens to their conversation. 

Fare thee well, nymph ; ere he do leave this grove, 
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 

Re-enter Puck. 
IJast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 

Puck. Ay, there it is. 

Ohe. . I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blow.^j 
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine ; 
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in ; 
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes : 
But do it, when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care ; that he may prove 
More fond on her, than she upon her love. 

Puck mistakes Lysander for the lover, on whom he is commissioned by Oberon to SEM 
oise his fairy spells. 

SCENE.— Another part of the Wood. 
Enter Lysander, and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood ; 

And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 

And tarry for the comfort of the day. 

Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed, 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
Such separation, as, may well be said. 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend : 
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 

Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! 

Her. With >alf that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd. 

[They sleep 



310 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, 



Enter Puck. 



Puck, Through the forest have I gone, 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I mignt approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence ! who is here ? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear ; 
This is he, my master said, 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe : 
When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
So awake, when I am gone ; 
For I must now to Oberon. [£'nl 

Enter Demetrius, and Helena, running. 

llel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 

Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. 

Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. 

Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. [Exit DEMETRiUMi 

Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears ; 
If so, my eyes are oftener vvash'd than hers 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear 
The'efore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ?— 
But who is here ? — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound I — 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 

Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [ Wa\v\^ 
Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Wliere is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name, to perish on my sword ? 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
What though he I'ove your Hermia ? O, what though ? 
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 



3n 

Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent 
Tlie tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd : 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
Bo I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
And touching now the point of human skill, 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
And leads me to your eyes ; where T o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery bom 1 
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ? 
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can, 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufficiency ? 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, yon do. 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd. 
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! Esii 

Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou there ; 
And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! 
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
Or, as the heresies that men do leave, 
Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy. 
Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! 
And all my powers, address your love and might. 
To honor Helen, and to be her knight ! [ Vril 

Her. \_Starting.'\ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do tiy iie^t, 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! 
Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
Lysander ! what, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord ! 
VVhat, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? 
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; 
Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. 
No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Kitlier death, or y^u, I'll find immediately. {Exn 



£J12 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 



ACT III. 

Oberon c iscovers that Puck has mistaken Lysander for Demetrius, and by his ojagii 
charms corrects the error. 

SCENE.— A Wood. 
Demetrius [Sleeping], Lysander, and Helena. 

Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn ? 

Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
Look, when 1 vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 

When truth kills truth, O, matchless holy fray I 
These vows are Hermia's ; Will you give her o'er ? 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing w^eigh : 
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, 
Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 

Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 

Dem. YAwaking.l O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine I 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 

Hel. O cruel spite ! I see you all are bent 
To set against me for your merriment. 
If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
But you must join, in souls, to mock me too ? 
If you were men, as men you are in show. 
You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena ; 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes. 
With your derision ! none, of noble sort, 
Would so offend a virgin ; and extort 
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lijs, You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so 



MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. 

For you love Hermia : this, you know, I know : 

And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 

In Hermia's love 1 yield you up my nart ; 

And yours of Helena to me bequeath. 

Whom I do love, and will do till my death, 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath, 
Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none : 

If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 

My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd ; 

And now to Helen is it home return'd, 

There to remain. 

Jjys. Helen, it is not so, 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know 

Lest, to thy peril, thou aby* it dear.— 

Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 

Enter Hermia. 
Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function take*, 
The ear mor.e quick of apprehension makes : 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
It pays the hearing double recompense : — 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I think, it brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 

Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth pre?3 to go? 
Her. What love could press Lysander from my side ? 
Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, 
Fair Helena ; who. more engilds the night 
Than all von fiery oesf and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make thee knov/, 
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 
Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 
Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three. 
To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspir'd, have you with these oontriv'd . 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have ^pent, 
, When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For parting us,— O, and is all forgot ? 
All schooldays' friendship, childhood innocence? 
We, Hermia. like two artificial gods, 
Have with our neelds| created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 

♦ Pay dearly for it. t Circles. X Nus-Jiat 



513 



1514 ." . SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
But yet a union in partition, 
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
Duo but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
And wiU you rend our ancient love asunder, 
To join with m.en in scorning your poor friend ? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it ; 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

ACT IV. 

Oberon directs Puck to cast the lovers into a " death coanterfeitmg s/eep," and ihek 
to disenchant Lysander, so that when they wake, all tlie mistakes shall seem a drnm. 

SCENE. — A Wood. Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and He- 
lena, discovered sleeping. 

Enter Theseus, Hippoltta, Egeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; — 
For now our observation is perform'd ; 
And since we have the vaward of the day, 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
Uncouple in the western valley ; go : — 
Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth-like bells. 
Each under each. A cry more tunable 
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
judge, when you hear. But soft ; what nymphs are these ? 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
fVnd this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is j 



midsummer-night's dream. • 815 

This Helena, old Neda's Helena : 

I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
The rite of May ; and, hearing: our intent, 
Come here in grace of our solemnity. — 
But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 

Ege. It is, my lord. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their honis. 

Horns and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and 
Helena, wake and start up. 

The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past ; 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to These ra, 

The. I pray you all stand up. 

I know, you are two rival enemies ; 
How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 

Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 
Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, t swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here : 
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) 
I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough. 
I beg the law, the law upon his head. — 
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ; 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealtli, 
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 
And I in fury hither folio w'd them ; 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
As the remembrance of an idle gawd. 
Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia ; 
But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food : 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste. 



816 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair flowers, you are fortunately met : 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
For in the temple, by and by with us, 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three, 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, mid tram 

Dem. These things seem small and undistinguishable, 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye. 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So, methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius Hke a jewel. 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. It seems to me, 

That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think, 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow him ; 
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. 



ACT y. 

SCENE 1. — Tlie same. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants 

Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. 

The. More strange than true. I never may believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; 
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic. 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
And, as imagination bodies forth 



midsummer-night's deeam. 317 

Tlie forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation, and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
Or, in the night, imagining some fear, 
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transfigured so together, 
More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
And grows to something of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and IliLY^iiu 

The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. — 
Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, 
Accompany your hearts. 

Tbe Play euds with a inasqae by vho comic rwrEOuageof ti» Dnj8». 



JULIUS CJISAR 



In ttis noble composition. Shakspeare has shown himself equally ^reat, in drr.matizinjj 
a celebrated portion of Classic History, as he is in adapting incidents gathered from ro- 
mantic story, or the wonders of legendary fiction. 

In Julius Caesar, he has been cliiefly indebted to Plutarch for his materials, and it is nc 
mean pra>»» awarded to him by his commentators, that he has caught the spirit of his 
great original. 

The principal characters are veritable Plutarchian embodiments. Caesar, Brntus, Ca?- 
lins. and Antony, aie clothed with even more individuaity of character, than th^y are 
depicted by the celebrated Greek Biographer. 

" The real length of time in Julius Caesar is as follows : About the middle of February 
B. C. 709, a frantic festival, sacred to Pan, and called Lnpercalia, was held in honoi 
of Caesar, when the regal crown Wcis offered to him by Antony. On the 15th of March in 
the same year, he was slain. November 27, B. C. 710, the triumvirs met at a small 
island, formed by the river Rhenus, near Bonoma, and there adjusted their cruel proserii>- 
■jon. — B. C. 711, Brutus and Cassius were defeated near Philippi." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



i! 



Julius C^sar. 

OCTAVIUS CjESAR, 

Marcus Antonius, ^trimnvirs after the death o/ Julius Caesar. 

M. JEmUj. Lepidus, 

Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena ; senators. 

Marcus Brutus, Casca, ■» 

Cassius, Trebonius, f . , ■ , i \- n 

Ti T> T / conspirators ac^ainst Julius Oaesar. 

Decius Brutus, Ligarius, | "' ° 

Metellus Cimber, Cinna, ' 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 

Artemidorus, a sophist of Cnidos. 

A Soothsayer. Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. 

LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Gato, and Volumnius ; 

friends to Brutus and Cassius. 
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius ; servants 

to Bi-utus, 
PiNDARUS, servant to Cassius. 
Calphurnia, wife to Csesar. 
Portia, wife to Brutus. 

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, ^c. 

SCENE, — during a great part of the Play, at Rome ; afterwards al 

Sardis ; and near Philippi. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 319 



ACT I. 



SCENE L— Rome. A Street. 
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. 

Flftv. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you home ; 
le this a holiday ? What ! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 

1st Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? — 
You, sir ; what trade are you ? 

^nd Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you 
would say, a cobbler. 

Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 

^nd Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe con* 
Bcience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 

Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade ? 

2nd Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : yet, if you 
be out, sir, I can mend you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that ? Mend n^ thou saucy fellow ? 

2nd Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 

2nd Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : I meddle 
with no tradesman's matters. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old 
shoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper 
men as ever trod up n neats-leather, have gone upon my handy-work. 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 

2nJ Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into 
more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar, and 
to rejoice in his triumph. 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey ? ]\Iany a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements. 
To towers and Vv^indows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
A nd w hen you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout, 



320 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 

To hear the replication of your sounds, 

Made in her concave shores ? 

And do you now put on your best attire ? 

And do you now cull out a holiday ? 

And do you now strew flowers in his way, 

Tb.at comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? 

Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 

Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 

That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 

Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [KxU CVizeiM 

See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
This way will I : Disrobe the images, 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 

Mar. May we do so ? 
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about. 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing, 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; 
Who else would soar above the view of men, 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [EoceurU. 

SCENE II.— The same. A public Place. 

Enter, in procession, with music, C^sar ; Antony, for the course ; 
Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and 
Casca, a great crowd following ; among them a Soothsaver. 

Sooth. Caesar. 

CcBS, Who is it in the press, that calls on me ? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. 
Cry, Caesar : speak ; Cgesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

C(ES. What man is that 'J 

Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. 

C<£S. Set him before me, let me see his face. 

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng : Look upon CaBsar. 

C(BS. What say'st thou to me now ? Speak once again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 



JULIUS CJiSAR. 321 

C(cs. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus ajul Cassvus 

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? 

Bru. Not I. 

Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
Ot that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you nov^r of late : 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
And show of love, as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceiv'd : If I have veil'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
Of late, with passions of some difference. 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors : 
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd ; 
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;) 
Nor construe any further my neglect. 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion ; 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath h uried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 

Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself, 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tis just : 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
(Except immortal Cassar,) speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bru. Into what dangers w^ould you lead me, Cassiu^ 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me ? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 



322 J5HAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus : 

Were 1 a common laugher, or did use 

To stale with ordinary oaths my love 

To every new protester ; if you know 

That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 

And after scandal them ; or if you know 

That I profess myself in banqueting 

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Flomish aiid shcvf 

Bru, What means this shouting ? I do fear, the people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well : — 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
What is it that you would impart to me ? 
If it be aught toward the general good. 
Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other, 
And I will look on both indifferently : 
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
The name of honor more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favor. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell, what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, Barest thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point 1 — Upon the word, 
Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in, 
And bade liim follow : so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
Caesar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 
I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so, from tlie waves of Tiber 
Did I the tir'd Caesar : And this man 
►s now become a god ; and Cassius rs 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him 



JULIUS CJSSAR. 323 

He had a lever when he was in Spain, 

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shalce : 'tis true, tliis god did shalvC. 

His coward lips did from their color fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the worldj 

Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas ! it cried, Give me some di'ink, Titinius, 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

A\nd bear the palm alone. [Shout. FlourUh. 

Bru. Another general shout ! 
I do believe, that these applauses are 
For some new honors that are heap'd on CaBsar. 

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world » 
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus, and Caesar : What should be in that Caesar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ceesar. Shoul 

Now in the names of all the gods at once. 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man ? 
O ! you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
\Vliat you would work me to, I have some aim ; 
How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
f will consider ; what you have to say, 
I will with patience hea: : and find a time 
15 



8*24 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Both meet to hear, and answer, such high thinga. 

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; 

Brutus had rather be a villager, 

Than to repute himself a son of Rome 

Under these hard conditions as this time 

Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I am glad, that my weak words 
ilave struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 

Re-enter C^sar, and Jiis Train. 

Bru. The games are done, and Casar is returning. 

Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleevft • 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 

Bru. I will do so : — But, look you, Cassius, 
The angry spot doth glow on Cesar's brow. 
And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes, 
As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cccs. Antonius. 

Ant. Caisar. 

Cccs. Let me liave men about me that are fai ; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o" nights : 
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous ; 
He is a noble Roman, and well given. 

Cccs. 'Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not : 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much. 
He is a great observer ; and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men ; he loves no plays. 
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music: 
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease. 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
I rather tell thee v/hat is to be fear'd. 
Than what I fear, for always I am Ceesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

^Exeunt Cesar and his Train. Casca stays behina 
Casca You puU'd me by the cloak ; Would ou speak with me ? 



JFLIUS CaESAR. 325 

Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, 
Vliat CaBsar looks so sad ? 

Casca. Why you were with him, were you not ? 

Bru. T should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered 
nim, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then thu 
people fell a' shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice ; What was the last cry for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by tlirice, every time 
gentler than other ; and at every putting by, mine honest neiglibors 
shouted. 

Cas. Who offer'd him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged, as tell the manner of it : it was 
mere foolery. I did not mark it. T saw Mark Antony offer him a 
crown ; — yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets , 
— and, as I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my think- 
ing, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again *, 
then he put it by again ; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to 
lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it a third time ; he put it 
the third time by : and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, 
and clapped their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty night- 
caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath, because Csesar re- 
fused the crown, that it had almost choked CaBsar ; for he swooned, 
and fell down at it. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you : What ? Did Caesar swoon ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, ard foamed at mouth, 
and was speechles" 

Bru. 'Tis very lil?^ : he hath the falling-sickness. 

Cas. No, CcBsar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, I am sure, Caesar 
fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, 
according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the 
players in the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the com- 
mon herd was glad he refused the crown, he pluck'd me ope his 
doublet, and offered them his throat to cut — an I had been a man 
of any occupation, I would have taken him at a word — and so he 
fell. When he came to himself again, he said. If he had done, oi 
said, any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his 
infirmity. 

Br2i. And after that, he came, thus sad. away ? 



326 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Casca. Ay. 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thin^ ? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the facs 
again : But those, that understood, him, smiled at one another, and 
cshook their heads : but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. 1 
could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavins, for pulling 
Bcarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There 
was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. 

Cas. Will you sup witb me to-night, Casca ? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ? • 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your iinnei 
worth the eating. 

Cas. Good ; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. {Exit Casua. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ? 
Re was quick mettle, when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now, in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit. 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you : 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so: — till then, think of the world. \^Exil BRUXtj* 
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
From that it is dispos'd : Therefore, 'tis meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes : 
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd ? 
Cffisar doth bear me hard : But he loves Brutus 
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
He should not humor me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
As if they came from several citizens. 
Writings, all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely, 
Cajsar's ambition shall be glanc'd at : 
And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ; 
For we will ahake him or worse days endure. [ Exix. 



JULIUS CiESAR. 321 



ACT II. 



Crssius writes certain anonymous papers to Brutus, instigating liim tf.' join witli tin 
aouspirators ; these are secretly conveyed by Cinna, and are found by Bru'-s. 

In «-he morning, tlie wiiole of the conspiratorr., headed by Cassius, repa»» *.o Brntns, tc 
Or^c their solicitations personally. 

SCENE.— T/ie same. Bmtus's Orchard. 

Enter Bkutus. 

Bru, What, Lucius ! ho ! — 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
Give guess how near to day. — Lucius, I say ! — 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say : What, Lucius ! 

Enter Lucius. 

Luc. Call'd you, my lord ? 

Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 

Luc. I will, my lord. ^xii 

Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
How that miglit change his nature, there's the question. 
It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder ; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? — That ; — 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power : And to speak truth of Caesar, 
I have not knovvn when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face : 
But when he once attains the utmost round, 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
liooks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend : So C8Bsar ma*y ; 
Then; lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no color for the thing he is. 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 
Would run to these and these extremities : 
.\nd therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous ; 
And kill him in the shell. 



828 SHAKSPl A.RIAN READER. 



Re'Cnter Lucius. 



Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure, 
It did not He there, when I went to bed. 

Bju. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ? 

Luc. I know not, sir. 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I w^ill, sir. [ExU 

Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air. 
Give so much light, that I may read by them. 

[Opens the lette-, and reads. 
Brutus, thou slcefst ; mvake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, cf-c. Speak, strike, redress ! 

Brutus, thou sleepht ; awake, 

Such instigations have been often dropp'd 

Where I have took them up. 

Shall Rome, cf*c. Thus must I piece it out ; 

Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What 1 Rome ? 

My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 

The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 

Speak, strike, redress ! — Am I entreated then 

To speak, and strike ? O Rome ! I make thee promise, 

If the redress will follow, thou receiv'st 

Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. [KnocJc within 

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate : somebody knocks. 

[Exit Lucius. 

Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 

I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing, 

And the first motion, all the interim is 

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 

The genius, and the mortal instruments 

Are then in council ; and the state of man. 

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 

The nature ?f an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc, Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone ? 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 

Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are nluck'd about their ears. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 32U 

A.nd naif tneir faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favor. 

Bru. Let them enter. [Exit Lucius 

They are the faction ! O conspiracy ! 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night. 
When evils are most free ? O, then, by day, 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, conspiracy ! 
Hide it in smiles and affability : 
For if thou put thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

'Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius. Cinna, Metellus Cimber, iiid 
Trebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you ? 

Bru. 1 have been up this hour ; aw^ake, all night. 
Know I these men, that come along with you ? 

Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here, 
But honors you : and every one doth wish, 
You had but that opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 

Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 

Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; 
And this, Metellus Cimber. 

Bru. They are all welcome. 

What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night ? 
Give me your hands all over, one by one, 

Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 

Bru. No, not an oa'h : If not the face of men, 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these. 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valor 
The melting spirits of women ; then, coimtrymcii, 
What need we any spur but our own cause, 
To urge us io redrecs ? 

Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him? 
r think, he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 



330 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ciu No, by no means. 

Met. O let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
Will pnrchase us a good opinion, 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds. 

Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with him : 
For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Cssar ? 

Cas. Decius, well urg'd : — I think it is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of CsBsar, 
Should outhve CsBsar : We shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know his means, 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 
Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassiua, 
To cut the head oflT, and then hack the limbs ; 
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards : 
For Antony is but a hmb of CsBsar. 
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesai , 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirii, 
And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 
Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods. 
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
And after seem to chide them. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
When Caesar's head is oflT. 

Cas. Yet I do fear him ; 

For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar, 

Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him : 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
la to himself; take thought, and die for Caesar : 
A.nd that were much he should ; for he is given 
To sports, to wildness, and much company. 

Treh. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. \C.fx:'k strikes 

Bru. Peace, count the clock. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 331 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treb. 'Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 

Whether Csssar will come forth to-day, or no ! 
For he is superstitious grown of late ; 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies : 
It may be, these apparent prodigies, 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his auguries, 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd, 
I can o'ersway him : for he loves to hear. 
That unicorns may be betray 'd with trees, 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers : 
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, 
He says, he does ; being then most flattered. 
Let me work : 

For I can give his humor the true bent ; 
And I will bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch hiir. 

Bru. By the eighth hour : Is that the uttermost ? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Cas. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave you, Brutus .— 
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember 
What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes : 
But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy : 

And so, good-morrow to you every one. [Exeunt all but Brutus, 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men : 
Therefore thou sleep'st po sound. 

Enter Portia. 

Por. Brutus, my lord ! 

Bru. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise you now ? 
It is not for your health, thus to commit 
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 

Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, Bi utus, 
Stole from my room : And yesternight, at supper, 
You sudden.y arose, and walked about, 
Musing and sighing, with your arms across : 
And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
You star'd uoon me with ungentle looks : 



3y:<i SHAKSPEARIAN RE..DEK. 

I iirg'd yoti farther ; then you scratch'd your hoasl 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot • 
Yet I insisted, yet you ansvver'd not ; 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
Gave sign for nie to leave you : So I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience. 
Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal, 
Hoping it was but an effect of humor 
Which sometimes hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
And, could it work so much upon your shape, 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
t should not know you, Brutus. Dear, my lord, 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do : Good Portia, leav«e me. 

Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical 
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors 
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick ; 
And will he steal out of his w^holesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night ? 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence within your mind, 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of: And, upon my knees, 
I charm you, by my once commended beauty, 
By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one, 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru, Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus., 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself. 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation ? 

Bi'u. Y'o'i are my true and honorable wife : 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

Por. If this were true, then should I know this secraU 
I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife : 
' grant, I am a woman ; but, withal. 



lULIUS C^SAR. 333 



A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter. 
Think you, I am no stron '•er than my sex. 
Being so futhei 'd, and so husbanded ? 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose theni 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound. — 
Can I bear that with patience, 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru. O ye gods 

Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
Portia, go in a while ; 
And, by and by tiiy bosom shall partake 
The secrets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee. 
All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
Leave me with haste. 



ACT III. 

On tlie (lay arranged by the conspirators, for the assassination of C-.esar, he is fiers: adud 
by Calpliurnia and the Augurers, not logo forth to the Capitol. He resists all theirn-aru- 
ings, and departs with Antony, Brutus, S:c., to keep his apiiointment. 

SCENE I.— The Capitol ; the Senate siuing. 

A crowd of people in the street leadivg to tlie Capitol ; among them, 
Artemidoru.s, a7id the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C^sar, 
Bruttjs, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, 
Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. 

Cces. The ides of March are come. 

8ooth. Ay, Cassar; but not gone. 

Art. Hail, Csesar ! Read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-reud, 
At your best leisure this his humble suit. 

Art. O, Caesar, read mine first ; for mine's a suit 
That touches Caesar nearer : Read it, great CaBsar. 

Cccs. What touches us ourse'f, shall be last sorv'd. 

Art. Delay not, Ca3sar ; read it instantly. 

C(cs. What, is the fellow mad ? 

Pub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 

CiUSAR enters the Capitol, the rest following. All tlie Senators rise. 

Pop. I wish, your enterprise to-day may thrive. 

Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ? 

Pop. Fare you well. [Adcances to Cjesar 

Bru. What said Popilins Lena '> 



834 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprise might thrive, 
! fear, our purpose is discovered. 

Bru. Look, how he makes to Ceesar : Mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — 
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 
Cassias or Caesar never shall turn back, 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius be constant ; 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 

Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony arid Trebonius. Caesar and l\t Senators take. 

their seats. 

Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Cassar. 

Bru. He is addressed : press near, and second him. 

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 

Cces. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss, 
That Caesar, and his senate, must redress ? 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant CaB^ar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart : — ' [Kneehi)^ 

CcLS. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men ; 
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood. 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools ; I mean sweet words, 
Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. 
Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
If thou dost bend, and pray, and iawn, for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Caesar doth not wrong : nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear, 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar ; 
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

C(cs. What, Brutus ! 

Oas. Pardon, Caesar : Cassar pardon; 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

C(cs. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you , 
S I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 



JTIIUS CvESAR. 333 

But 1 am constant as the northern star, 

Of whose true-rix'd, and resting quality, 

There is no fellow in the firmament. 

The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 

They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 

But there's but one in all doth hold his place : 

So, in the world ; 'Tis furnish'd well with men, 

And men are flesh and blood, and approbpnsive ; 

Vet, in the number, I do know but one 

That unassailable holds on his rank, 

Unshak'd of motion : and, that I am he, 

Let me a little show it, even in this ; 

That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd, 

And constant do remain to keep him so. 

Cin, O Caesar. 

Cccs. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 

Dec. Great CaBsar, 

Cccs. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me. 

[Casca siahs C^sar in the neck. C^sar catches Iwld ^ of lixi 
arm. He is then stabbed by several other Conspirator h^ 
and at last by Marcus Brutus. 

Cccs. Et tu Brute ?— Then fall, Caesar. 

[Dies. The senators and people retire in confusion, 

Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out. 
Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! 

Bru. People, and senators ! be not afFrighted ; 
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius too, 

Bru. Where's Publius? 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's 
Should chance 

Bru. Talk not of standing ; — Publius, good cheer ; 
There is no harm intended to your person. 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the people, 
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 

Bru. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed, 
But we the doers. 

Re enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where is Antony ? 

Tre. Fled to his house amai'd: 

Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
As it were doomsday. 



S36 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures 

That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life. 
Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 
So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
His time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place ; 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
[-et's all cry. Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 

Cas. Stoop then, and wash. — How many ages hence, 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, 
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ? 

Bru. How many times shall Cajsar bleed in sport. 
That now on Pompey's basis hes along. 
No worthier than the dust ? 

Cas. So oft as that shall be. 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave our country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth ? 

Cas. Ay, every man away ; 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 

Enter a Servant. 

Bru. Soft, who comes here ? A friend of Antony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down : 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest : 
Cajsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
Say, I loved Brutus, and I honor him : 
Say, I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and lov'd him, 
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, 
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state. 
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Romtin | 
[ never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, 
Depart untouch'd. 



JULIUS L'^SAR. 337 

Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to frit nd. 

Cas. I wish, we may : but yet have I a mind, 
That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark Antony. 

Ant. O mighty Caesar ! dost thou lie so low ? 
Are ull thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
Shrunk to this little measure ? — Fare thee well. — 
[ know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made ricb 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die : 
No place will please me so, no mean of deati:^ 
As here by Ceesar, and by you cut oflE", 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru. O Antony ! beg not your dea.th of us. 
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
As, by our hands, and this our present act, 
You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
And this the bleeding business they have done : 
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) 
Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your pan, 
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony 
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts. 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man'i3. 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 
And then we will deliver you the cause, 
VVhy I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I aoubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; — now yours MetcUus ; 



338 SKAKSPEARIAN READETl. 

Vours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — • 

Though last, not least in lore, yours, good TreborUui 

Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 

My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 

That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 

Either a coward or a flatterer. — 

That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true : 

If then thy spirit look upon us now, 

Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death. 

To see thy Antony making his peace, 

Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 

Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 

Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 

Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 

It would become me better, than to close 

In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 

Pardon me, Julius ! — 

Cas. Mark Antony, 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caesius: 

Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
Why, and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
Our reasons are so fall of good regard, 
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. That's all I seek : 

And am moreover suitor, that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word wi h you, — 

You know not what you do ; Do not consent, [A tide 

That Antony speak in his funeral : 
Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
By that which he will utter ? 

Bru. By your pardon ; — 

I will myself into the pulpit first. 
And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
And that we are contented, Caesar shall 
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take your Caesar's body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
But speak all good ycc can devise of CjEsar; 



JULIUS C^SAR. 339 

And say, you do 't by our permission ; 
Else shall you not have any hand at all 
About his funeral : And you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I- am going, 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so ; 

I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

\_Exeiint <ult jUt AriTOHf 

Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth. 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ' 
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, 
That ever hved in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife. 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
And dreadful objects so familiar, 
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
And Ca3sar's spirit, ranging for revenge. 
With At^ by his side, come hot from hell, 
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice. 
Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war. 

Enter a Servant. 
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. CaBsar did write for him, to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming . 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
O Caesar ! [Seeijig the UJj 

Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see is catching ; for mine eyes, 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine. 
Began to water. Is thy master coming ? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. 

Ant, Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc'd : 
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while ; 
Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
In my oration, how the people take 



340 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

T/ie cruel issue of these bloody men ; 

According to the which, thou shalt discourse 

To young Octavius of the state of things. 

Lend me your hand. [Exeunt wilh Cesar's body 

SCENE U.—The same. The Forum. 
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng q/" Citizens. 

Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. — 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

1st Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2nd Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons, 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, ivith some of the Citizens. Brutl's goei 
into the Rostrum. 

3rd Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence I 

Bru. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ; and be 
silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine honor ; and have 
respect to mine honor, that you may believe : censure me in your 
wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If 
there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I 
say, that Brutus' love to Cssar was no less than his. If then that 
friend demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, — 
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you 
rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were 
dead, to live all free men ? As Cssar loved me, I weep for him ; as 
he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him : 
but, as he was ambitious, I slew him : There are tears, for his love ; 
joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition. 
Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for 
him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is here so 
vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
oflfended. I pause for a reply. 

Cit. None, Brutus, none. [ Several speaking at once. 

Bru. Then none have I oflTended. I have done no more to Cgesar, 
tnan you should do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled 
in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy 
nor his offences enforced, for which he suflfered death. 

Enter Antony and others^ with Cesar's lody. 
Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony ; who, though ho 
had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a 



JULIUS C^SAR. 341 

Flace in the commonwealth ; As which of you shall not ? With this 
depart ; That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need 
my death. 

Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 

1st Cit. Bring him with triumph home nnto his house. 

2nd Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

3rd Cit. Let him be Ca)sar. 

4th Cit. Ca3sar's better parts 

Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 

\st Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. 

Bru. My countrymen, 

2nd Cit. Peace ; silence I Brutus speaks. 

1st Cit. Peace, ho! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
Do grace to Ccesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Cassar's glories ; which Mark Antony. 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit 

1st Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3rd Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ; 
We'll hear him : Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 

4th Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

3rd Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 

He finds himself beholden to us all. 

4th Cit, 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1st Cit. THs Caesar was a tyrant. 

3rd Cit. Nay, that's certain : 

We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him, 

2nd Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 

Ant. You gentle Romans, 

Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear hira, 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
Th6 evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus is an honorable m.an ; - 
So are they all, all honorable men ;) 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
But Brutus sa}-^, he was ambitious ; 



342 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitions ? 

When that the poor have cried. Caesar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; . 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honorable man. 

[ speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once ; not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Csesar, 
And I .must pause till it come back to me. 

1st Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 

2nd Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Caesar has had great wrong. 

Srd Cit. Has he, masters ? 

1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 

4th Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the crown j 
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 

1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2nd Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 

3rd Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony, 

Aih Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 

Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the u orld : now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

t should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men : 

1 will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 

I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which pardon me 1 do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's w6jnds. 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 

Vea, beg a hair of him for memory, • 



JULIUS C^SAR. 343 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
Unto their issue. 

4lli CiL We'll hear the will : Read it, Marlv Antony. 

Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Cassar's will. 

A?7t. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd yon. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
'Tis good you know not' that you are his heirs ; 
For if you should, O, what would come of it ! 

4lh Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay a while ? 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
I fear I wrong the honorable men, 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Ca;sar : I do fear it. 

4ih Cit. They were traitors : Honorable men ! 

CiL The will ! the testament ! 

2nd Cit. They were villains, murderers : The will, read the will ! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 

Cit. Come down. 

2nd Cit. Descend. [He comes down from {\i vulpit, 

3rd Cit. You shall have leave. 

4"h Cit. A ring ; stand round. 

1st Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2nd Cit. Room for Antony ;— most noble Antony. 

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far oif. 

Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now 
You all do know this mantle : I remembei 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 
That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
liOok ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger tlirougii 
See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him i 
This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 



344 SHAKSPEAT'tlAIS READKri. 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Q,uite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
O, what a fall was there my countrymen ! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
\^'hilst bloody treason flourislrd over us. 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what weep you, when you but beliold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
1st Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 
2nd Cit. O noble CcEsar ! 
^rd Cit. O woful day ! 
Ath Cit. O traitors, villains ! 
1 St Cit. O most bloody sight ! 

2iid Cit. We will be revenged : revenge ; about,— seek, — burn 
fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a traitor live. 
Ant. Stay, countrymen, 

1 St Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 
2nd Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die witi him. 
Ant. Good friends, sv/eet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They, that have done this deed, are honorable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do't ; they are wise and honorable. 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend, and that tliey know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb noutba* 
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
[ji every wound of Cgesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
Cit. We'll mutiny. 

\si Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
^rd Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
AnL Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
Cij.. Peace, ho I Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 



JTJLIUS C^SAK. f?45 

Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what : 
Wherein hath Caosar thus deserv'd your loves ! 
Alas, you know not— 1 must tell you then : — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 

Cit. Most true ; the will : — let's stay and hear the will. 

Ant. Here is the will, and under CaBsar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives, 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 

2nd Cit. Most noble Caesar ! — we'll revenge his death. 

Sid Cit. O royal Caesar ! 

Ant. Hear me with patience. 

Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, 
On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures. 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar : When comes such another ? 

1 St Cit. Never, never : Come, away, av/ay ; 
We'll burn his body in the holy place. 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. [Exeunt Citizens with the -jod^ 

Ant. Now let it work ; Mischief; thou art afoot, 
Take thou what course thou wilt ! — How now, fellovr ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 

Ant. Where is he ? 

Serv. He and Lepidns are at Caesar's house. 

Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
And in this mood will give us any thing. 

Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassias 
Are rid like madmen through the g-ates of Rome. 

Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people, 
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. [Exeirtl 



ACT IV. 

Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, assume the government of Rome, Thej are ijiposaj 
o> Brutus and Cassius, who levy powers to make war on the triumvirate. 

SCENE. — Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near JSardis. 

Drum. — Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers : TiriNiu* 
and PiNDARUS meeting them. 

Bru. Stand here. 

Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 



346 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

JBt-m. What now, Lucilius? is Casslus near? 

Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

[Pindarus ghes a leticr to Brutus 

Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, 
In his own change, or by ill officers, 
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt, 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, full of regard, and honor. 

Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius ; 
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 

Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough ; 
But not with such familiar instances, 
Nor with such free and friendly conference. 
As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ; 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 

Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter'd ; 
The greater part, the horse in general, 
Are come with Cassius. [Ma'ch within 

Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — ^ 

March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius, and Soldiers 

Cas. Stand, ho ! 

Bi'u. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along- 

Wilhin. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 

Bru. Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies ? 
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs ; 
And when you do theii 

Bru. Cassius, be content. 

Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : — 
Before the eyes of both our armies here. 
Which should perceive nothing but love from us. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 347 

Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away , 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bi'u. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man 
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunl 

SCENE III.— Wilkin the Tent of Bruins. 

Lucius aTid Titinius at some distance from it. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius. 

Cas, That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
"Vou have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherem, my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 

You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March reinembcpr. 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors, 
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not ms, 

ni not endure it : 3'-ou forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yours<Jf 
To make conditions. 
16 



348 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

BriL Go to ; you're not, Cassias. 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? 

Cas. O gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 

B?'u. All this ? ay, and more : Fret till your proud heart break 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods. 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this ? 

Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true. 
And it shall please me well : For mine own part, 
[ shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, Brutus 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
Did I say, better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus have'moved ii*» 

Bru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him 

Cas. I durst not ? 

Bru. No. 

Cas. Wliat ? durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. For your life, you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bni. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty. 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ; — 
For 1 can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
By any indirection, I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 340 

Which you denied me : Was tliat done like Cassius ? 

Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ? 

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 

To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 

Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 

That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd mv hv.'flrt v 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults, 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
\s huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd, 
Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
[, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him betto? 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger: 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked Vv'ith a lamb 
That carries anger, as the flint bears flre ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-teraper'd vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 

Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your han(L 

Bru. And my heart too. 

Cas. O Brutus !— 

Bru. What's the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me. 



350 SHAKSrEARlAN READER. 

When that rash humor, which my mother gave me, 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth. 

When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He'l] think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry, 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 

Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
[f you give place to accidental evils. 

Bru. No man bears sorrow better : — Portia is dead 

Cas. Ha! Portia! 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so ? 

insupportable and touching loss ! — 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her death 
That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallovv'd firo. 

Cas. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 

Enter Lucius, icith wine and tapers. 

Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [D; hiks. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — 
Fill, Lucius, till tie wine o'erswell the cup ; 

1 cannot drink to< much of Brutus' love. [Drinks 

Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius : Welcome, good Messala. 
Now sit we close about this taper here, 
And call in question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 

Bru. No more, I pray you. — 

Messala, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
Come down upon us with a mighty power. 
Bending their expedition toward P'hilippi. 

Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor. 

Bru. With what addition ? 

Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Anton}^ and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died. 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 



JULIUS CJESAR. 851 

Cas. Cicero one ? 

Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. — 
Had you your letters irom your wife, ray lord ? 

Bru. No, Messala. 

Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 

Bi'u. Nothing, Messala. 

Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in yours l 

Mes. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die, Messala: 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
Of marching to Philippi presently ? 

Cas. 1 do not think it good. 

Bru. Your reason. 

Cas. This it is 

'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to bettar. 
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground. 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
For Ihey have grudg'd us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up. 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged ; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off. 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother, 

Bi-u. Under your pardon. — You must note beside, 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
The enemy increaseth every day. 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune : 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat, 



B02 SHAKSPEARIAJN READER. 

And we must cake ihe current when it serves. 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on : 

We'll along ou/selves, and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say ? 

Cas. No more. Good night ; 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 

Bru. Lucius, my gown. — [Exit Lucius.] — Farewell, gool Mcs- 
sala ; — 
Good night, Titinius. — Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cas. O my dear brother ! 

This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Every thing is .veil. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. 3Ies Good night, lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt Cassius, Titinius, and Messal^ 

Re-enter Lucius, with ihe goivn. 

Give mo the gown. Where is thy instrument ? 

Luc. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd. 
Call Claudius, and some other of my men ; 
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro. and Claudius ! 

Enter Vareo, and Claudius. 

Var. Calls my lord ? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep ; 
It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure. 

Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ; 
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so : 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie (l/yic^ 

Luc. 1 was sure, your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 

Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 353 

B?'u. It does, my boy : 

trouble thee too much, but thou art willing*. 

Luc. It is my duty, sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
I know, young bloods, look for a time of rest. 

Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 

Bni. It is well done ; and thou shalt sleep again , 
t will not hold thee long : if I do hve, 

I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song 

This is a sleepy tune : — O murd'rous slumber ! 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 
That plays thee music ? — Gentle knave, good night ; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
I'll take it from thee : and, good boy, good night. 
Let me see, let me see : — Is not the leaf turn'd down. 
Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. [He sils down 

Enter the Ghost of C^sar. 

How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here ? 
I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes. 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me : — Art thou any thing ? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
Speak to me, what thou art. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 

Bni. Why com'st thou ? 

Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. Well; 
Then I shall see thee again ? 

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vmiishes 

Bru. Why, I shall see thee at Philippi then. — 
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — ■ 
Boy ! Lucius ! — Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! 
Claudius ! 

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
Lucius, awake. 

Luc. My lord ! 

Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, 'hat thou so cry'dst )ul ? 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see \ny thing ? 

Luc. Nothing, my lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius ! 
Fellow thou ! awake. 

Var. My lord. 

Clau. My 'ord. 



854 SHAKSPEA.RIAN READER. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ? 

Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ? 

Bru. Ay, saw you any thing ? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 

Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeu7il. 

ACT V. 

The fifth Act is occupied with the battle of Philippi, the defeat and death of Brutni 
and Cassius. They perish by their own hands. The Drama ends with the followini 
eulogium on Brutus, by Antony and Octavius. 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
All the conspirators, save only he, 
Did that they did in envy of great Ccesar ; 
He, only, in a general honest thought, 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle ; and the elements 
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up. 
And say to all the world, This was a man ! 

Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
With all respect, and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie. 
Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. — 
So, call the tield to rest : and let's away, 
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunl 



twelpth-night; 

OE, 

WHAT YOU WILL. 



Eliak? >eare appears to have invariably sought for the originals of his plots from 
•oarces within his reach. — The Italian novelists of his period furnished ample materias foi 
his purpose, but although there are traces to be found in the present Comedy, of incidents, 
which are evidently borrowed from these sources, yet even the industrious and acute re- 
searches of the critics cannot distinctly trace out the precise authorities, to which the Poet is 
indebted for the groundwork of this delightful Comedy. 

There is In this Drama, an under plot, — skilfully interwoven into the main subject, yet, 
in no degree necessary to the cnief action of the Play. The nature of our design, has in- 
duced the rejection of the comic incidents, which form the minor plot, so that we might 
incorjKJrate into our selections, the entire main story, with all its charming beautia. A 
fraceful and tou'iiing Poetry. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 

Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother to Viola. 

Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian. 

A sea captain, fnend to Viola. 

Valentine, Curio, gentlemen attending on the Duke.. 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle of Olivia. 

Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 

Fabian, Clown, servants to Olivia. 

Olivia, a rich Countess. 
Viola, in love with the Duke. 
Maria, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants^ 

SCENE. — A City in Illyria ; rnd the Sea-coast near it. 



356 SHAKSPEARIAN READER 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Duke's Patace 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending, 

Duhe. If music be the food of love, play on, 
Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 

'J'he appetite may sicken, and so die. 

That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing, and giving odor. — Enough ; no more ; 
'Tis liot so sweet now, as it was before. 
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
Of what validity and pitch soever, 
But falls into abatement and low price, 
Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy, 
That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

Buke. . What, Curio ? 

Cur. The luiit 

Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : 
when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought, she' purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
E'er since pursue me. — How now ? what news from her ? 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted. 
But from her handmaid do re.'urn this answer : 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-offending brine : all this, to season 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh. 
And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft, 
Hath killM the flock of all afiections else 
That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, 
(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king ! — 



TWELFTH-NIGIIT. 351 

Away before r.'C to sweet beds of flowers ; 

Love-thoughtiff lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeuftl, 

SCENE II.— T/:e Sea-coasL 
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 

Vio. W'j.'X country, friends, is this ? 

Cap. Illyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? 
My bro^/ier he is in Elysium. 
Percharce, he is not drown'd. — What think you, sailors ? 

Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. 

Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may he be. 

Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you with chance, 
A^'3■Ji•e yourself, after our ship did split, 
Whon you, and that poor number saved with you, 
f Jung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
I) lost provident in peril, bind himself 
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ; 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves. 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold : 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
Whereto tliy speech serves for authority, . 
The hke of him. Know'st thou this country ? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and bom, 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

Vio. Who governs here ? 

Cap. A noble duke, in natnro< 

As in his name. 

Vio. What is his name ? 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio. Orsino ! T have heard my father name him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. . And so is now, 

Or was so very late : for but a month 
Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do, 
The less will prattle of.) that he did seek 
The love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she ? 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died : for whose dear love. 
They say, she hath abjured the company 
And siffht of men. 



358 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Vio. O, that I served that lady : 

And might not be delivered to the world, 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
What my estate is. 

Cap. That were hard to compass ; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain ; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
The farm of my intent. I'll serve this duke ; 
Thou shalt present me as a page to him, 
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, 
And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap, to time I will commit ; 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be thou his page, and I your mute will be ; 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 

Vio. I thank thee : Lead me on. [Exewtt. 

Viola, having disguised herself in male attire, obtains the situation of Page, in titt 
Duke's household, under the name of Cesario. 

A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. 

Val. If the Duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you 
are like to be much advanced ; he hath known you but three days, 
and already you are no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in 
question the continuance of his love : Is he inconstant, sir, in hia 
favors ? 

Val. No, believe me. 



Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 

Duke. Stand you awJjile aloof — Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; 
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. i59 

And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord 

If she be so abandoned to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Duke. B? clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What then i 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love ; 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith. 
it shall become thee well to act my woes ; 
She will attend it better in thy youth. 
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 

Vio. 1 tliink not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it ; 

For tliey shall yet belie thy happy years, 
That say, thou art a man : Diana's Hp 
Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound. 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
I know, thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair : — Some four, or five, attend him ; 
All, if you will ; for I myself am best. 
When least in company : — Prosper well in this, 
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best, 

To woo your lady : yet, — [AsjcZe.] — a barful strife : 
Whoe'er I woo, n yself would be his wife. [hceuTU 

The Lady Olivia, attended by her waiting woman Maria, and Malvolii) ler steward, 
fc informed that a messenger from llie Duke seeks her presence. 

SCENE V. 
Enter Olivia, Maria, and Malvolio. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much 
desires to speak with you. 

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? 

Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing but madman : 
Fye on him I— [Exit Maria.]— Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit 
from the count, I am sick or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss 
il:. — [Exit Malvolio.] — Now you see, sir. how your fooling grows 
old, and people dislike it. 

Re-enter INTalvglio. 
Mai Madam, yond, young fellow swears he \^ ill speak with you. 



880 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

I told him you were sick ; he takes on him to understand so nnich, 
and therefore comes to speak with you : I told him you were asleep ; 
he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and therefore comes 
to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady ? he's fortified 
against any denial. 

on. Tell him, he shaL not speak with me. 

Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'll stand at your door 
like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak 
with you. 

OH. What kind of man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 

Oli. What manner of man ? 

Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with you, will you, or no. 

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy 
He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly. 

Oli. Let him approach : Call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exii 

Re-enter Maria. 
Oli. Give me my veil : come throw it o'er my face : 
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

Enter Viola. 

Vio. The honorable lady of the house, which is she ? 

Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your will ? 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty, I pray you, 
tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her : I would be 
loath to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excellently well 
penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let m.e sus- 
tain no scorn ; I am very comptible,* even to the least sinister usage. 

Oli. Whence came you, sir ? 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's 
out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you 
be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 

Oli. Are you a comedian ? 

Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the very fangs of malice, 
I swear I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house ? 

OH. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what 
is yours to bestow, is not yours to reserve. But this is from my 
commission : I will on with my speech in your praise, and then show 
you the heart of my message. 

Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you the praise. 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and *tis poetical. 

Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you keep it in. I 

heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, 

•ither to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, he 

* Accountable. 



TWELFTII-NIGHT. 361 

gone; if you have reacon be brief: 'tis not that time of moon Viith 
me, to mal^e one in so skipping a dialogue. Tell me your mind. 

Vio. I am a messenger. 

on. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the 
courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your ofhce. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no 
taxation of homage ; I hold the olive in my hand : my words are as 
full of peace as matter. 

Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? what would you ? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me, have I learn'd from 
my entertainment. What I am, and wliat I would, are to your eara, 
divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 

Oli. Give us the place alone : we v^ill hear this divinity. — [Exit 
Maria.] — Now, sir, what is your text ? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, 

OH. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where 
lies your text ? 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

Oli, In his bosom ? In what chapter of his bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. 

Oli. O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no more to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate whh 
my face ? you are now out of your text : but we will draw the cur- 
tain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
this present : Is't not well done ? [Unveiling. 

Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. 

Oli, 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and weathe*. 

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, 
If you' will load these graces to the grave, 
And leave the world no copy. 

Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will give out divera 
schedules of my beauty : It shall be inventoried ; and every particle, 
and utensil, labelled to my will. Were you sent hither to oraiae 
me? 

Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and m.aster loves you ; O, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! • 

OH. How does he love me ? 

Vio. With adorations, with fertile tedrs, 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him ; 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and variant, 



362 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
He might liave took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
In your denial I would find no sense, 
I would not understand it. 

OH. Why, what would you ? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love. 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Holla your name to the reverberate hills. 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth. 
But you should pity me. 

OH. You might do much : What is your parentage 1 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleman. 

OH. Get you to your lord ; 

1 cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady : keep your purse ; 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love makes his heart of flint, that you shall love ; 
And let your fervor, like my master's, be 
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. ^Exit 

OH. What is your parentage ? 
Above my fortunes, yet my state is ivell ; 

I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art ; 

Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, 

Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — soft ! soft » 

Unless the master were the man. — How now ? 

Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 

Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, 

With an invisible and subtle stealth. 

To creep in at mine eves. Well, let it be.— 

What, ho, Malvolio !— 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service, 

OH. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 
Would I, or not ; tell him, I'll none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord. 
Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him : 



TWELFTH-NIGET. 363 

if that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
i.'h give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. 

Mai Madam, I will. \Exit. 

OH. I do I know not what : and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : Ourselves we do not owe ; 
What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! [ Exit. 

ACT II. 

SCENE.— A Street. 
Enter Viola ; Malvolio following, 

Mai. V/ere not you even now with the countess Olivia ? 

Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have since arri red bul 
hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you might have saved me 
my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that 
you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of 
him : And one thing more ; that you lie n'^ver so hardy to come 
again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. 
Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to hei ; and her will is, it 
should be so returned : if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in 
your eye ; if not, be it his that finds it. [^Exil, 

Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this lady ? 
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her I 
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much. 
That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
I am the man ; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness. 
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it, for the proper-false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their form 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
My master loves her dearly ; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
What will become of this ! As I am mas 
My state is desperate for my master's love 
As I am woman, now alas the day ! 



564 SHAKSPEARIAN READEK. 

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ? 

O time, thou must entangle this, not I ; 

It is too hard a kn.^t for me to untie. [Exit 

Viola becomes enamored of ;he Duke, and with exquisite delicacy describes her own 
feelings, while professing to narrate her sistei's stor)'. 

SCENE.— A Room m the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music . — Now, good morrow, friends : 

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
That old and antique song we heard last night • 
Methought, it did relieve my passion much ; 
More than light airs and recollected terms, 

Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 

Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your krdship, that should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it ? 

Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool, that the lady Olivia's fathe! 
took much delight in : he is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 

\^Exit Curio. — Music 
Come hither, boy ; if ever thou shalt love, 
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
Save, in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ? 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 

My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves ; 
Hath it not, boy ? 

Vio. A little, by your favor. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't ? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i' faith ? 

Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the woman take 
\n elder than herself ; so wears she to him. 
So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves. 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn. 
Than women's are. 

Vio. I think it v/ell, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. 
Or thy aflection cannot hold the bent : 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 3(36 

For women are as roses ; whose fair flower, 
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 

Vio. And so they are ; alas, that they are so j 
To die, even when thoy to perfection grow ! 

Duke. Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yond' same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 

Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir ? 

Duke. I cannot be so answered, 

Vio. 'Sooth, but you mu^ 

Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is. 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; 
You tell her so ; Must she not then be ansv/er'd ? 

Duke. There is no woman's sides, 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
And can digest as much : make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me. 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know, — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 

Vio. Too well what love wonien to men may : 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man. 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

Duke. And what's her history ? 

Vio. A blank, my lord : She never told her love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
Feed on tier damask cheek: she pin'd in thought; 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy. 
She sat like patience on a monument. 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? 
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, 
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
Much in our vows, but little in our love. 

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, * 
And all the brothers too ; — aad.yet I know not. — 
Sir, shall I to this lady ? 

Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 



8()U SHAKSPEARIAN READfcS 

To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
My love can give no place, bide no denay.* 

ACT III. 

Olivia, and Viola. 

According to the Duke's instructions, Viola again presents herself to Olivia ba» Snd« 
the lady unwilling to listen to Orsino's suit. The cause is explained in the folio ^ii|( 
icene. 

Oil. Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble serv.' ee. 

OIL What is your name ? 

Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 

OIL My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world 
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. 

Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours : 
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

OIL For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts, 
Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me ! 

Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf : — 

OIL O, by your leave, I pray you ; 

I bade you never speak again of him : 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that. 
Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, • 

OIL Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you ; so did I abuse 
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
Under your hard construction must I sit. 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, 
Which you knew none of yours : What might you think ? 
Have you not set mine honor at the stake, 
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your receiving 
Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
Hides my poor heart ; So let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

OIL That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a step ; for 'tis a vulgar proo!, 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

OIL Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again. 
O world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 

* Denial. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 367 

If one sliould bo a prey, how much the better 

To fall before the lion, than the wolf? \Ci kK strikes 

The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 
Be iiot afraid, good youth, T will not have you : 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 
There lies your way, due west. 
• Vio. Then westward-ho : 

Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ! 
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 

OIL Stay: 
f pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 

Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 

OIL If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 

0>i. I would you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
I w'lr.h it might ; for now I am your fool. 

Oil. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In th? contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A mi.fd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
By maidhood, honor, truth, and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 
And that r.o woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 

OIL Yet come again :*for thou, perhaps, may'st move 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his lo^e. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Sebastian, the twin-brother of Viola, is saved from the wreck in which he believes hh 
sister was lost. Having business at Orsino's court, he anives there accompanied by hii 
friend Antonio. He is supposed to be the exact counterpart of his sister, as she appears, 
tvhen disguised as the Page. In passing near Olivia's house, he is encountered by a 
servant of the lady's, who has been sent to request Viola will come and speak with 
Olivia. He denies all knowledge of the lady, but Olivia enters, and believing him to be 
Viola, entreats him to enter the house: he consents, — and the lady so charms him, that 



308 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

be y.eltls s. willing assent to her proposals of immediate marriage. The Duke still [lersisl 
mg in his passion for Olivia, determines to seek the lady in person, accompanied bj 
Viola. On reaching Olivia's house, he is met by Antonio, Sebastian's friend, who 
accosts Viola, supposing her to be Sebastian. The Duke, supposing the man to be in- 
sane, indignar\tly rebukes him. — Olivia enters from the house, and seeing Viola, addressai 
her as her lately married husband. 

Duke. Here comes the coimtess; now heaven walks on earth. — * 
But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : 
Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; 
But more of that anon. Take him aside. 

on. What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 

Vio. Madam? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, 

OIL What do you say, Cesario ? Good my lord, 

Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 

OH. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine car. 
As howling after music. 

Duke. Still so cruel ? 

OH. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 

on. Even what it please my lord, that shall become hiin. 

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death. 
Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy, 
That sometime savors nobly ? — But hear me this : 
Since you to non-regardance cast my fatlh, 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favor, 
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; 
But this your minion, whom, I know, you k)ve, 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mischief; 
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly. 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die."^ [Follomng 

OIL Where goes Cesario ? 

Vio, After him I love, 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life. 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife; 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. ^09 

If 1 do feign, you witnesses above, 
Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! 

OIL Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 

Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you wrong ? 

Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long ? — 
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an AttenilaiV 

Duke. Come away. [To Viola 

• Oli. Whither, my lord ? Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband ? 

Oli. Ay, husband, can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear. 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fo»tunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father ! 

Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 

Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
Reveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost know, 
Hath newly past between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave 
I have travelled but two hours. 

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! w^hat wilt thou bo 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet, 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 

Oli. O, do not swear j 

Elold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 

Enter Sebastian. 

Duke. One face, one habit, and two persons j 
A natural perspective, that is, and is not, 

Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me. 
Since I have lost thee. 



370 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Ant. Sebastian are you? 

Seb, Fear'st thou that, Antonio 5 

Ant. How have you made division of yourself ? — 
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? 

Oil. Most wonderful ! 

Seb, Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd : — 
Of charity, what kin are you to me ? [ To Vicla. 

What countryman ? what name ? what parentage ? 

Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father , 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 
So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

Seb. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 
And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola ! 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. And so had mine. 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished, indeed, in his mortal act, 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
I'll bring you to a captain in this town, 
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count ; 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 

Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook : [ To Ouv lA. 

But nature to her bias drew in that, 
You would have been contracted to a maid ; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood. — • 
If this be so, as 3'et the glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wreck : 

Boy, thou hast said te me a thousand times, [ To Vkk 

Thou never should'st love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; 
And all those swearings keep as true in soul. 



TWELFTH-NIGHT. 371 

As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

Duke. Give me thy hund ; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
Ilatli my maid's garments : he upon some action, 
fg now in durance : at Malvolio's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

OIL He shall enlarge him. 
My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, 
To thi-nk me as well a sister as a wife, 
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, 
Here at my house, and al my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer. — 
Your master quits you; — [To Viola.] — and, for your service done 

him, 
So mueh against the mettle of your sex. 
So far beneatn your soft and tender breeding. 
And since you call'd me master for so long, 
Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

OIL A sister ? — you are she. 

Duke. A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls — Meantime, sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come j 
For so you shall be, while you are a man ; 
But, when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsiao's mistress, and his fancy's queen, Ejrmjsi 

ir 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Tlie outline of this Play is taken from a novel of Cinthio, the Italian novelist and 
tragic author, to whom Shakspeare was likewise indehted ibr the story of Othello. 

Measure for Measure, presents us with one of the most perfect of our author's female 
tharacters in the person of Isabella. Dr. Blake says, of this beautiful creation, that 
* Piety, spotless purity, tenderness combined with firmness, and an eloquence the most per- 
luasive, unite to render her singularly interesting and attractive." Of the general excellence 
of this Drama, Mr. Verplanck justly remarks, that " there is no composition, of the 
same length, in the language, which has left more of its expressive phrases, its moral aphor 
isms, its brief sentences, ciowded with meaning, fixed on the general menaory, and em- 
aodied by daily use in every form of popular eloquence, argument, and literature." 

Oar extracts, though necessarily brief, will be found to embody the pnncipaJ striking 
^auties of this truly impressive composition. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

TicENTio, Duhe 0/ Vienna. 

Angelo, lord deputy in the Duke's absence. 

EscALUS, an ancient lord, joined with Angelo in the d'putation. 

3laudio, a young gentleman. 

Lucio, a fantastic. 

Two other like gentlemen. 

Varrius, a gentleman, servant to the Duke 

Provost. 

Thomas, Peter, two friars. 

A Justice. 

Elbow, a simple constable. 

Froth, a foolish gentleman. 

Clown, servant to JSIrs. Over-done. 

Abhorson, an executioner. 

Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. 

IsABETXA, sister to Claudio 
Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
Francisca, a nun. 
Mistress Over-done, 

Itords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. 

SCENE.— Vienna. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 373 

The Duke of Vienna, determines to examine in person, the condition of his people. 
To do this effectually he purposes to resign, for a period, his government into the keeping 
if Lord Angelo, and Escalus, and in disguise to mix with his subjects and learn theii 
ictual condition, and ascertain whether the laws are faithfully administered. 

ACT 1. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus, — 

Escal. My lord. 

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold. 
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; 
Since I am put to know, that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, 
And let them work. The nature of our people, 
Our city's institutions, and the terms 
For common justice, you are as pregnant in, 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember : There is our commission. 
From which we would not have you warp. — Ca.. hither, 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [ Exit an Attendant 

What figure of us think you he will bear ? 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply ; 
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love ; 
And given his deputation all the organs 
Of our own power : What think you of it ? 

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo sudi ample grace and honor, 
It is lord Angelo. 

Enter Angelo. 

Duke. Look, where he comes. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life, 
That, to the observer, doth thy history 
Fully unfold : Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do ; 
Sot light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touchM. 



374 SHAKSl'EARIAN READEE. 

But to fine issues : nor nature never lends 

The smallest scruple of her excellence, 

But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 

Herself the glory of a creditor. 

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 

To one that can my part in him advertise ; 

Hold therefore, Angelo ; 

In our remove, be thou at full ourself : — 

Morlal'Uy and mercy in Vienna 

Live in thy tongue and heart : Escalus, 

Though first in question, is the secondary : 

Take thy commission. 

Ang. Now, good my lord, 

Let there be some more test made of my metal, 
Before so noble and so great a figure 
Be stamp'd upon it. 

Duke. No more evasion : 

We have vf\\h. a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honors. 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, 
That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to yoa, 
As time and our concernings shall importune, 
How it goes with us ; and do look to know 
What doih befall you here. So, fare you well : 
To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
Of your commissions. 

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Diike. JNIy haste may not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on mine honor, have to do 
With any scruple : your scope is as mine own : 
So to enforce, or qualify the laws 
As to your soul seems gjod. Give me your hand ; 
I'll privily away : I love the people. 
But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
Though it do well, I do not relish well 
Their loud applause, and aves vehement : 
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 

Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in liappiness. 

Duke. I thank you : Fare you well. ^ExiL 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns mo 
To look into the bottom of my place : 
A power I have ; but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet Instructed. 

Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw together 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 375 

And we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Escal. I'll wait upon your honor. [^Exeunt 

The Duke proceeifs to a Monastery in the city, and assumes the disj^tiise of a Fria 

SCENE.— A Monaslery. 

Enter Duke, and Friar Thomas. 

Diike. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought 
D-glieve not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

Fri. IMay your grace speak of it ? 

Diike. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever lov'd the life removed ; 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 
Where youth, and costs, and witless bravery keeps. 
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
(A man of stricture, and firm abstinence,) 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir. 
You will demand of me, why I do this ? 

Fri, Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting lawa 
(The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) 
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep 
Even hke an o'ergrown lion in a cave. 
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, 
Only to stick it in their children's sight, 
For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd, so our decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
And liberty plucks justice by the nose, 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 

Fri. It rested on your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd 
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
Than in Lord Angelo. 

Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done 



876 SHAKSPZ&RIAN READER. 

When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 

And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, ray fatlior, 

T have on Angelo impos'd the office ; 

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 

And yet my nature never in the sight, 

To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 

I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 

Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ytlioe 

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 

How I may formally in person bear me 

Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, 

At our more leisure shall I render you ; 

Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise : 

Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows, or that his appetite 

Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 

Tf power change purpose, what our seemers le [Ejccunt 

ACT 11. 

Angelo assumes the government, with rigid seva.hy ; hi jails intu enactment, old 
laws, long disused, and makes offenders pay the utmo-st penalty for their liansgressions. 

Claudio, a profligate young gentleman, is condeirmcd to death, nhdci' one of these re- 
vived laws. He prevails on his sister Isabella, a young novice, to leave the cloistei, snd 
go in person to Angelo, and endeavor to obtain a pardon from the Lord Deputy. 

SCENE.— A hall in Angelo's House. 
Enter Angelo, and Escalus. 

Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch, and not their terrcr. 

Escal. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
Than fall, and bruise to death : Alas ! this gentleman, 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
Let but your honor know, 
(Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) 
That, in the working of your own affections. 
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing 
Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose. 
Whether you had not sometime in your life 
Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
And pull'd the law upon you. 

Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing tc fall. I not deny, 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 377 

The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 

May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 

Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to justicfc, 

That justice seizes. What know the laws, 

That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, 

The jewel that we lind, we stoop and take it, 

Because we see it ; but what we do not see, 

We tread upon, and never think of it. 

You may not so extenuate his offence, 

For I have had such faults : but rather tell me. 

When I, that censure him, do so offend. 

Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 

And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 

Ang. Where is the provost ? 

Prov. Here, if it like your honor. 

Ang. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrov7 morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exli Ftovoei 

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : 
Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 

SCENE. — Another Room in tlie same. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Serv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will come straight. 
I'll tell him of you. 

Prov. Pray you do. — \^Exit Servant.] — I'll know 
His pleasure ; may be, he will relent. 

Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? 

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, I have seen, 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Ang. Go to ; let that be mine ' 

Do you your ofSce, or give up your place, 
And you shall well be spar'd. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, 
Desires access to you , 



378 SHAKSPEAEIAN READER. 

Ang. Hath he a sister ? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord a very virtuous maid, 
And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
If not already. 

Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant 

Enter Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honor ! 

Ang. Stay a little while. — I To Isab.] — You are welcomft' 
What's your will ? 

Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honor. 
Please but your honor hear mc. 

Ang. Well, what's your suit ? 

Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 

Ang. Well ; the matter ? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
And not my brother. 

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
Mine was the very cipher of a function. 
To find the laults, whose fine stands in record. 
And let go by the actor. 

Isab, O just, but severe law ! 

I had a brother then. — Must he needs die ? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 

Ang. I will not do't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would ? 

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, 
if so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him ? 

Ang. He's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. 

Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
May call it back again : Well, believe this. 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
Become them with one half so good a grace^ 
As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
And you as he, you would have slipt Hke him ; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stem 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. i379 

Isah. I would to heaven I had your potency, 
And you were Isabel : should it then be thus ? 
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas ! alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
And He that might tlie vantage best have took. 
Found out the remedy : How would you be, 
If he, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips. 
Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son. 
It should bo thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 

Isah. To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him, spare nim : 
He's not prepar'd for death ! Even for our kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink you : 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There's many have committed it. 

Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept : 
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil. 
If the first man that did the edict infringe. 
Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake ; 
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, 
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd^ 
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 
Cut, where they live, to end. 

Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice 
For then I pity those I do not know. 
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sentence; 
And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 
Could great men thunder 

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet 
For every pelting, petty officer 



BdO SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but thunder. — . 

Merciful heaven ! 

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 

Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 

Than the soft myrtle ; — But man. proud man ! 

Drest in a little brief authority ; 

Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, 

His glassy essence, — like an angry ape 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 

As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens, 

Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 

Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; 

But, in the less, foul profanation. 

That in the captain's but a choleric word. 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? 

Isab. Because authority, though it err Wlq others, 
riath yet a kind of medicine in itself. 
That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; 
Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Ang. \_Aside.'\ She speaks, and 'tis 
Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well, 

Isah. Gentle my lord, turn back. 

Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, tum bj»cH, 

Ang. How ! bribe me ? 

Isal). Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall sNrr with yea. 
Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor. 
As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there. 
Ere sunrise : prayers from preserved souls, 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. 

Ang. Well : come to mA 

To-morrow. 

Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe ! 
At what hour to-morrow 
Shall I attend your lordshi -^ '^ 

Ang, At any *^»me 'fore noon. 

Isab. Save your Ikhot ! [£Jxet/fU 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 381 



ACT III. 

Isabella visita Angelo, at the lime appointed, and renews her suit. The apparently 
<t«rn dispenser of Justice, makes dishonorable proposals to her, as the price of lie! 
brother's life ; she indignantly repels him ; and hastens to the prkon where Claudio u 
confined, to tell him that he must prepare for death. 

The Dake is made acquainted with Claudio's situation, and visits him in his disguis* 
tss » Friar. 

SCENE. — A Room in the Prison. 
Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 

Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo ? 

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
But only hope : 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with Ufe,— 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
^Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun. 
And yet run'st toward him still : Thou art not noble, 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st. 
Are nurs'd by baseness : Thou art by no means valiant 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep. 
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself ; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not : 
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ; 
And what thou hast, forget'st : Thou art not certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey. 
And death unloads thee : 
Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep. 
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 
That bears the name of life '^ Yet in this life 



382 SilAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
TJiat makes these odds all even. 

Claud. I humbly thank you 

To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
And, seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 

Enter Isabella. 

Jsab. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company ! 

Prov. Who's there ? come in : the wish deserves a welcoms. * 

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be conceal'a, 
Yet hear them. {Exeunt Duke and Provost 

Claud. Now sister, what's the comfort ? 

Imh. Why, as all comforts are ; most good indeed 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
Intends you for his swift embassador. 
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger ; 
Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy ? 

Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head. 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any ? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance ? 

Isab. Ay, just perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determin'd scope. 

Claud. But in what nature ? 

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
Would bark your honor from that trunk you beai 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point, 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake. 
Lest thou a feverish life should'st entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honor. Dar'st thou die ? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
And the poor beetle that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great. 
As when a giant dies. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 

Claud. Why give you me this .'^hauie ? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
And hug it in mine arms. 

Isah. There spake my brother ; there my father's grav 
Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
[n base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
Wliose settled visage and deliberate word 
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew, 
As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil. 

Claud. The princely Angelo ? 
O heavens ! it cannot be. 

Isah. O, were it but my life, 
I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabella. 

Isah. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 

Claud. O Isabel ! 

Isah. What says my brother ? 

Claud. Death is a fearful thaig 

Isah. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 

Isah. Alas I alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isah. O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch 
Take my defiance : 

Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed ; 
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
No word to save thee. ' 



383 



3S4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
Isah. O, fye, fye, fye ! 

'Tis best that thou diest quickly. {^Going. 

The Duke overhears the conversation between Claudio and his sister, and touched 
vrith the virtue and dignity of Isabel's character, he plans a nrode by which Claudio 
may escape iht- penalty of the Law, and Angelo shall receive a well-merited puuishmon* 
&r liu abii<e of pu>re;. 



KING JOHN. 



King John, is the firs: of that series of Dramas, written by our Poel to illustrate some 
trf the most important events in English history. The old chroniclers furnished him 
with abundant material for his labors ; but in this Play he has taken a chronicle 
historical Drama, entitled "The Troublesome Raigne of John, King of England,* 
and by his incomparable powers of transmutation, he has presented us with a vivid 
life-stirring picture of the eventful reign of this, one of the weakest monarchs that ever 
•wayed the sceptre of England. 

The clijf interest in this Drama, is centred in the events connected with the Lady 
Constance and her son Arthur ; we have therefore confined our selections to the scenes in 
WibioJs th«ir mournful history is portrayed. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King John. 

Prince Henry, his son ; afterwards King Heniy III. 

Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, son of Geffrey, late Duke 9/Bre- 

tagne, the elder brother of King John. 
William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. 

Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, chief justiciary of England. 
William Longs word. Earl of Salisbury. 
Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. 
Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the King. 
Robert Faulconbridge, son of Sir Robert Faulconbridge. 
Philip Faulconbridge, Afs half-brother, illegitimate son to King 

Richard the First. 
James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
Fetex, of Pomfret, a prophet. 
Philip, King 0/ France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin. 
Archduke of Austria. 
Cardinal Pandulth, the Pope's leg;ate. 



38C SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

MelCxNj a French lord. 

Chatiluon, ambassador from France to King John. 

Elinor, the widow of King Henry II., and mother of King Johr 

Constance, mother to Arthur. 

Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and niece tf. 

King John. 
Lady Faulconbridge. 
Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers., 

Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
SCENE. — Sometimes in England, and sometim s in France. 



ACT III. 

We commence onr extracts at the period when King John invades France with a 
nnmerous army, to chastise Philip for espousing the cause of Prince Arthur, the rightful 
heir to the English throne. 

The contending armies of England and France, meet before the city of Angiers ; and 
after a battle, in which each party claims the victory, a peace is declared between the 
Sovereigns, to be cemented by the marriage of the French King's son, to Blanch, the 
niece of John. Philip further engages to break his league with the Lady Constance, and 
her son. The indignation and grief of the widowed mother, is beautifully depicted in tko 
fo'lowing scene. 

SCENE.^Angters. The French King's Tent. 
Enter Constakce, Arthur, and Salisbury. 

Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! 
False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends ! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those provinces ? 
It is not so ; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard ; 
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; 
I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of feare • 
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
And though thou now confess, thou didst but jes*. 
With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce. 
But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 



KING JOHN. 3^7 

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ! 
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, 
But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, 
Tliat give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow. 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
And let belief and life encounter so. 
As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — 
Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art thou 1 
France friend with England ! what becomes of me ?~ 
Fellow, begone ! I cannot brook thy sight ; 
This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
But spoke the harm that is by others done ? 

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is. 
As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 

Arih. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, were griir 
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, 
Lame, foolish, crook'd, swart, prodigious, 
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
I would not care, I then would be content ; 
For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. 
And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O ! 
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee ; 
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone, 
And leave these woes alone, which I alone. 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go v^ithout you to the kings. 

Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thec 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
Let kings assemble, for my grief's so great, 



08B SHAKISPEARIAN READER. 

That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[She throws herself on the ground 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinq-s., Faul- 
CONBRIDGE. AUSTRIA, and Attendants. 

K, Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed day, 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
Turning, with splendor of his precious eye, 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
Shall never see it but a holyday. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Risirig 

What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done : 
That it in golden letters should be set. 
Among the high tides, in the calendar ? 
Nay, neither, turn this day out of the week ; 
This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
Yet, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
To curse the fair proceedhigs of this day : 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit 
Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd, and tried, 
Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours ; 
The grappling vigDr and rough frown of war. 
Is cold in amity and painted peace. 
And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings ! 
A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
Set armed discord 'tvvixt these perjur'd kings ! 
Hear me, O, hear me ! 

Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 

CovM. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. 
O liymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ; 
Thou little Vfiliant, great in villany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! Thou cold-blooded slave. 



KING JOHN. 38^ 

Hast tnoa not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now flill over to my foes ? 
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
And hang a calf s-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to mc I 

Faul. And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. 

Faul, And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. 

K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself. 

Enter Pandulfh. 

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 

Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! 
To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
I, Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal. 
And from pope Innocent the legate here, 
Do, in his name, rehgiously demand. 
Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
kSo wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see ? 
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name, 
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 

K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories, 
Can task the free breath of a sacred ki^-^g ? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of Englai d, 
Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
But as we under heaven are supreme head, 
So, under him, that great supremacy, 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart, 
To him, and his usurp'd authority. 

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly j(ed. 
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 



390 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, 

Yet I, alont;, alone do me oppose 

Against the pope, and count his friends my foes, 

Pand. Tlien by the lawful power that I have, 
Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate : 
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
Canoniz'd, and worship'd as a saint. 
That takes away by any secret course 
Thy hateful life. 

Const. O, lawful let it be, 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile I 
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, 
To my keen curses : for, without my wrong. 
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 

Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 

Const. And for mine too ; when law can do no right, 
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong : 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
i\.nd raise the power of France upon his head, 
Jnless he do submit himself to Rome. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand 

Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? 

Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ? 

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, 
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. 
I'his royal hand and mine are newly knit : 
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, 
So newly joined in love, so strong in both. 
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ? 
Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with heaven, 
Make such unconstant children of ourselves. 
As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
And make a riot on the gentle brow 
Of true sincerity ? O holy sir, 
My reverend father, let it not be so : 
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd 
To do your pleasure, and continue friends, 

Paiid. All form is formless, order orderlcss. 
Save wnat is opposite to England's love. 



KING JOHN. 301 

Therefore, to arms, be champion of our church ! 

Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 

A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 

France, thou raay'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 

A cased lion by the mortal paw, 

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. 

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 

Pand. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath. 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vow 
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
But, if not, then know, _, 

The peril of our curses light on thee ; 
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, 
But, in despair, die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, fiat rebellion ! 

Faul Will 't not be ? 

Will not a calf 's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 

Lew. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? 

Against the blood that thou hast married ? 

husband, hear me ! — even for that name, 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 

Against mine uncle. 

Const. O, upon my knee, 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Fore-thought by heaven. . 

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, 
His honor : O, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor ! 

Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. 
When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head, 

K. Phi. Thou shalt not need : England, I'll fall from thee. 

Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! 

Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. 

Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, adieu ? 
Which is the side that I must go withal ? 

1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
And, in their rage, I having hold of both. 
They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win ; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose 



392 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Father, I may not wisli the fortune thine ; 
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive. 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
Assured loss, before the match be play'd 

Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 

Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. 

K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. — 

\^Exii Faul. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
A rage, whose heat hath this condition, 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, 
The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. 

K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 

K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms let's hie ! 

[Exeunt 

A battle ensues between the French and EngHsh forces, and Arthur is taken prisOD6l 
by King John. 

SCENE. — Plains near Anglers. 

Alarums ; Excursions ; Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Ar- 
thur, Faulconbridge, Hubert, and Lords. 

K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay behind, 

[ To Elinor. 
So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : [_To Arthur, 

Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. 

K. John. Cousin, — [to Faulconbridge.] — away for England 
haste before : 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels 
Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
IVTust by the hungry now be fed upon : 
Use our commission in its utmost force. 

Faul. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray 
(If ever I remember to be holy,) 
For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 

K.John. Coz, farewell. [J^xz7 Faulconbridge 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 

{She takes Arthur aside, 

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, 
We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul, counts thee her crpditor, 



KING, JOHN. 398 

And with ad-vantage means to pay thy love : 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this Dosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
But I will fit it with some better time. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty. 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: 
But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, 
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
[ had a thing to say, — But let it go : 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
A-ttended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. 
To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; 
If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eye^. 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes ;) 
Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes. 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words , 
Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
But ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well ; 
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. 

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
By heaven, I'd do't. 

K. John. Do not I know, thou would'et 1 

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yon young boy ; I'll tell thee what, my friend, 
He is a very serpent in my way : 
And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ? 
Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I will keep him so, 

Diat he shdl not offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death. 

Hub. My lord ? 

K. John. A grai'3. 



394 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Hvh. He shall not live. 

K. John. Enough. 

I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee. 
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : 

Remember. Madam, fare you well : 

I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 

Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 

K. John. For England, cousin, go : 

Flubert shall be your man, attend on you 
With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt 

SCENE.— TTie French King's Tent. 
Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and Attendants. 

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole armado of convicted sail 
Is scatter'J and disjoin'd from fellowship. 

Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 

K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill ? 
Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers lost ? 
Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain : 
And bloody England into England gone, 
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? 

Lew. What he ha^Ji won, that hath he fortified : 
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard. 
Of any kindred action like to this ? 

K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praiaa, 
So we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Enter Constakce. 

Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath : — 
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 

Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Constance I 

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress. 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
Death, death : — O amiable, lovely death ! 
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night. 
Thou hate and terror to prosperity. 
And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st, . 
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
O, come to me ! 

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 

Const No, no, will not, having breath to cry : — 



KING JOHN. ^ 895 

O, that my ton^fue were in tlie thunder's mouth ! 
Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
NV'hich scorns a modern invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow, 

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
r am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
I am not mad ; — 1 would to heaven I were ! 
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! — 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
My reasonable part produces reason 
How I may be deUver'd of these woes, 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 
I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 

K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Const. To England, if you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your haira. 

Const. Yes, that I will ; And wherefore will I dj ilt 
I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud. 

that these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty ! 
But now I envy at their liberty. 

And will again commit them to their bonds^ 

Because my poor child is a prisoner.—— 

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say 

That we shall see and know our friends in neaven • 

If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 

For. since the birth of Cain, the first male child. 

To him that did but yesterday suspire. 

There was not such a gracious creature bom 

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 

And chase the native beauty from his cheek. 

And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; 

As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 

And so he'll die ; and, rising so again, 

When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 

1 shall not know him : therefore never, never 
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief 
Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. 
18 



398 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

K, Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious parts. 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
Then, have 1 reason to be fond of grief. 
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 

1 could give better comfort than you do. 

I will not keep this form upon my head, 

[Tearing off her head-dresi 
When there is such disorder in my wit. 
O lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. 

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. 



ACT lY. 

Arthur is conveyed to England, wliere he is imprisoned in Northampton Castis 
Huberi is appointed his keeper, with insiruetions from King John to find some means 
secretly, to deprive the young Prince of his life. 

SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Hubert, and Tico Attendants. 

Huh. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me. 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

\st Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : Look to't. 

[Exeunt Attendaiitg 
Young lad, come forth ; 1 have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 

Arih. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on m e ! 

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
Voung gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, ana kent sheep, 



KING JOHN. 397 

I should be as merry as the day is long- ; 

And so I would be here, but that I doubt 

My uncle practises more harm to me : 

tie is afraid of me, and I of him : 

[s it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 

No, indeed, is't not ; And, I would to heaven, 

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead ; 
Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. [Aside 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — Read here, 
young Arthur. — [Showing a paper.] — How now, foolish rheum ! 

[Aside, 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 

Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will vou ? 

Hub. _ ' And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but acha 
r knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it for me,) 
And 1 did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
Saying, What lack you ? and. Where lies your grie^ ? 
Or, what good love may I perform for you ? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 
Ajid call it cunning ; Do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill. 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
So much as frown on you? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I, burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it i 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
Anproaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. 



398 SIlAKSrEARIAN READER. 

And quench his fiery indignation, 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me, 
Ar.d told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. 
Hub. Come forth. [Slamys 

Re-enier Attendants, wilh cords, irons, cf-t'. 

Do as 1 bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are oni, 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away. 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
1 will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you. 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone v/ith him. 

1st Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. 

\^Exeunt Attendants 
Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes 

Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
Vour vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And woulc not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 



KING JOHN. 39& 

Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself; 
There is no mahce in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. • 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends. 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live, I will not touch thine eyes, 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet T am sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arlh. O, now you look like Hubert ! 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more. Adiou. 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
Will not offend thee. 

Arlh. O heaven ! — ^I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me. 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [I^xeuni 

King John is crowned the second time, in hopes to give assnraBce, by this double 
coronation, of his title to the English crown. The Nobles and People are disaffected, 
and Philip breaks the league, and prepares to invade England. John, alarmed at his 
position, repents of his conduct towards young Arthur, and accuses his confidant, Hubert, 
with tempting him to accede to the murder. 

SCENE II.— A Room of State in the Palace. 

Enter King John, croumed; Pembroke, Salisbury, and vthe^ Lords 
The KixXG takes his State. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, 
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This once again, but that your highness pk-as'd, 
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 



100 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

With any long'd-for change, or better state. 

Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
To guard a title that was rich before. 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To throw a perfume on the violet, 
To smooih the ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 

Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done 
This act is as an ancient tale new told *, 
And, in the last repeating, troublesome. 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

Sal. In tbis, the antique and well-noted face 
Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
And, like a shitted wind unto a sail. 
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 
Startles and frights consideration ; 
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 

Pern. When workmen strive to do better than wcli. 
They do confound their skill in covetousness : 
And, oftentimes, excusing of a foult. 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
As patches, set upon a httle breach, 
Discredit more in hiding of the fault. 
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 

Sal. To this efl^ect, before you were new-crown'd. 
We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highneas 
To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; 
Since all and every part of what we would, 
Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 

K.John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
I shall indue you with : Meantime, but ask 
What you would have reform'd, that is not well ; 
And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
I will both hear and grant you your requests. 

Pern. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of thesG 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all, 
Your safety, for the which myself and them 
Bend their best studies,) heartily request 
The enfranchisement of Arthur : whose restraint 
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent. 
To break into this dangerous argument, — 
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, 
Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 



KIx\G JOHN. 4.01 

The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
That the time's enemies m.ay not have this 
To grace occasions, let it be our suit, 
That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
Which for our goods we do no further ask, 
That whereupon our weal, on you depending. 
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 

K.John. Let it be so ; I do commit this youth 

Enter Hubert. 

To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you ? 

Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed. 
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
The image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The color of the king doth come and go, 
Between his purpose and his conscience, 
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 

Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 

K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand : — 
Great lords, although my will to give is living, 
The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 

Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 

Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, 
Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 

K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me 1 
Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ? 
Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 

Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame. 
That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 

Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee, 
And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, 
Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while ! 
This must not be thus borne : tliis will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. {^Rjceunt Lorda 

K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent ; 



402 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

There is no sure foundation set on blood ; 
No certain life achiev'd by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger, 

A fearful eye thou hast ; Where is that blood, 

That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ? 

So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 

Pour down thy weather : — How goes all in France ? 

Mtss. From France to England. — Never such a power 
For any foreign preparation, 
Was levied in the body of a land ! 
The copy of your speed is learned by them ; 
For, when you should be told they do prepare, 
The tidings come, that t"hey are all arriv'd. 

K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been druisk? 
Where hath it slept ! Where is my mother's care ? 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it ? 

Mess. My liege, her ear ' 

Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died 
Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : but this from rumor's tongue 
I idly heard ; If true, or false, I know not. 

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! 
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
My discontented peers ! — my mother dead ? 

Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-nigkll 
Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four, in wondrous motion. 

K. John. Five moons ? 

Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets, 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously ; 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
And whisper one another in the ear ; 
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist j 
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action. 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyce. 
I saw a srTiicn stand with his hammer, thus, 
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's nev»'s ; 
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
Told of a many thousand warHke French, 
That were embattailled and rank'd in Kent : 
Another lean unwash'd artificer 
Cuts ofiT his tale, and talks cf Arthur's deail 



KING JOHN. i03 

K. Jolin. W hy seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? 
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's deaUi ? 
Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub, Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke me ? 
' K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 
To break within the bloody house of life ; 
And, on the winking of authority. 
To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
More upon humor than advis'd respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 

K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
Makes deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
Quoted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my miud : 
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
Apt, liable, to be'employ'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord, 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pau.se 
When I spake darkly what I purposed ; 
Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face. 
And bid me tell my tale in express words : 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 
But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
And consequently, thy rude hand to act 
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.— 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers 
Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civic tumult reigns 
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 

Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine, 



i04 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 

Not painted with the crimson spots of blood 

Within this bosom never enter'd yet 

The dreadful notion of a murd'rous thought, 

And you have slander'd nature in my form : 

Which howsoever rude exteriorly. 

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 

Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers. 
Throw this report on their incensed rage. 
And make them tame to their obedience ! 
Forgive the comment that my passion made 
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
Presented thee more liideous than thou art. 
O, answer not ; but to my closet bring 
The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 
I conjure thee but slow^ly ; run more fast. [ExeitiiL 

SCENE III.— The same. Before the Castle. 
Enter Arthur on the walls, 

Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down • — 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, 
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 

As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps doion 

me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies 

Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and BiGcr. 

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's Bury : 
It is our safety, and we must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ? 

Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
Whose private with me, of the dauphin's love, 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sal. Or rather then set forward : for 'twill be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 

E?iter Faulconbredge. 

Paul. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords ! 
The king by me, requests your presence straight. 



KING JOHN. 405 

Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honors, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : 
Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst. 

Faul. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, weie best. 

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 

Faul. But there is little reason in your grief ; 
Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. 

Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 

Faul. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? 

[Seeing Artiutb 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! 
Tlie earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal Sir Richard, what think you ? Have you beheld, 
Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think, 
Or do you almost think, although you see. 
That you do see ? could thought, without this object, 
Form such another ? this is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, 
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke, 
That ever wall-eye'd wrath, or staring rage, 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in thi& '. 
And this so sole, and so unmatchable. 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Faul. It is a cursed and a bloody work ; 
The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand : 
The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The incense of a vow, a holy vow, 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
Never to be infected with delight. 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 



406 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADF.R. 

Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
By giving it the worship of revenge. 

Pern. Big- Our souls religiously confxrm thy vi^orrfs. 

Enter Hubert. 

Huh ' Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking yo« 
Arinnr doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 

Hub. I am no villain. 

Sal. Must I rob the law ? \^Drawing his nttml 

Faul. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. 

Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ; 
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours : 
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself. 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 

Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ? 

Hub. Not for my life ; but yet I dare defend 
My innocent life against an emperor. 

Sal. Thou art a murderer. 

Hub. Do not prove me so ; 

Yet, I am none : Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pern. Cut him to pieces. 

Faul. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 

Faul. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury : 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime. 

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge ? 
Second a villain and a murderer ? 

Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 

Big. Who kill'd this prince ? 

Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
I honor'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
For villany is not without such rheum ; 
And he long traded in it, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
Away, with me, all you w^hose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house : 
F'or I am stifled with the smell of sin. 

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there ! 

Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. 

\ Exeunt Lords 



KING JOHN. 407 

FauL Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this fair mirk ? 
l-ieyond the infinite and boundless reach 
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 

Paul Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; 
Thou art stained as black — nay, nothing is so black 
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 

Huh. Upon my soul, 

Faul. If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair, 
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted. 
Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drown thvself, 
Put but a httle water in a spoon, 
And it shall be as all the ocean. 

Enough to stifle such a villain up. 

I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Huh. I left him well. 

Faul. Go, bear him in thine arras. — 

I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way 
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — 
How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty. 
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
Is fled to heaven : and England now is left 
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty. 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 
Now powers from home, and discontents at home, 
Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
(As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast) 
The eminent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. — Bear away that child. 
And follow me with speed ; I'll to the king : 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exewii 

ACT V. 

SCENE \.—The same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King John, Pandulph witli the crown, and Attendants. 
K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
The circle of my glory. 



i08 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Parid. Take again {^Giving John the '^'own. 

From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
Yoxix sovereign greatness and authority. 

K. John. Mow keep your holy word : go meet the French ; 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches, 'fore we are infiam'd. 
Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humor 
Rests by you only to be qualified. 
Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
That present medicine must l)e rainister'd. 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Pand. Jt was my breath that blev/ this tempest up, 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; 
But, since-you are a gentle convertite, 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war. 
And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
Upon your oath of service to the pope. 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. " Exil 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet 
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, 
My crown I should give off? Even so I have : 
I did suppose, it should be on constraint ; 
But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 

Enter Faulconbridge. 

Faul. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out, 
But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd, 
Like a kind host, the dauphin and his powers : 
Your nobles v/ill not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy ; 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, 
After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 

Faul. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; 
An empty casket, where the jewel of hfe 
By some vile hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Faul. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with 5re : 



KINO JOHN. 4U9 

Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow 

Of bragg-ing horror: so shall inferior eyes, 

That borrow their behaviors from the great, 

Grow great by your example, and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution.. 

Av/ay ; and glister like the god of war. 

When he intendeth to become the field : 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 

And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? 

O, let it not be said ! — Forage, and ran 

To meet displeasure further from the doors ; 

And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. 

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with mc 
And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
Led by the daupliin. 

Faul. O inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, 
Insinuation, parley, and base truce, 
To arms invasive ? shall a beardless boy, 
A silken wanton brave our fields, 
And flesh his spirit in a wariike soil. 
Mocking the air with colors idly spread, 
And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms : 
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace ; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said. 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 

K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present time. 

Faul. Awa^' then, with good courage ; yet, I know. 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [ExeuTr 

The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected Nobles of England, gives battle to John fi 
Bt. Edmund's Bury ; the King's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyetl to Swinstead 
Abbey, sick of a fever. 

SCENE. — An open Place in the neighborhood o/*Swinstead- Abbey. 
Enter Faulconbridge and Hubert, meeting. 

Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I shoot. 
Faul. A friend.— What art thou ? 

Hub. Of the part of England 

Faul. Whither dost thou go ? 

Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may I not demand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? 
Faul. Hubert, I think. 
Uub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 



410 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

will, upon all hazards, well believe 
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well' 
Who art thou? 

Faul. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, 

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think 
I come one way of the Plantagenets. 

Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless night, 
Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Faul. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news abroai: ? 

Huh. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. 
To find you out. 

Faul. Brief, then ; and what's the news ? 

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the niglit, 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 

Faul. Show me the very wound of this ill news ; 
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time, 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Faul. How did he take it ? who did taste to liim ? 

Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain. 
The king yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 

Faul. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ? 

Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all come bacl(, 
And brought prince Henry in their company ; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them. 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Faul. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, 

And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 

ril tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night 

Passing these flats, are taken by the tide. 

These Lincoln washes have devoured them 

Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. 

Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 

I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. \Exeu7ii 

SCENE.— TTie OrcT? a?- J o/Swinste ad- Abbey. 
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-housej 
Doth, by the idie comments that it makes, 
Foretell the ending of mortality. 



KING JOHN. 41] 

Enter Pembroke. 

Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds belief, 
That, being brought into the open air, 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here. — 
Doth he still rage ? [.Exit Biarnr 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes 
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he goads and wounds 
With many legions of strange fantasies ; 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. 
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; 
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest. 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 

Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, wlio bring in Kik« John, ir 
a chair. 

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room ; 
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
There is so hot a summer in my bosom. 
That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
I am a scribbled form, drawn w^ith a pen 
Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 

K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare ; — dead, forsook, cast off', 
And none of you will bid the winter come, 
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their conrse 
Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, 
I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait, 
And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears, 
That might relieve you ! 

K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 

Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 



412 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Is, as a fiend, conlin'd to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 

Enter Faulconbridge. 

Faul. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and bum'd ; 
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
Are turned to one thread, one Httle hair : 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it 'py, 
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ; 
And then all this thou seest is but a clod, 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward ; 
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him ■ 
For, in a night, the best part of my pov/er. 
As I upon advantage did remove, 
Were in the washes, all unwarily 
Devour'd by the unexpected flood. i Ty Kmo d'uK 

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. 
My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay ! 

Faul. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, 
To do the office for thee of revenge ; 
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 

As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, 

Where be your powers ? Show now your mended faiths ; 

And instantly return with me again. 

To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 

Out of the weak door of our fainting land : 

Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; 

The dauphin rages at our very heels. 

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : 
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest. 
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we with honor and respect may take, 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Faul. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel 
To the disposing of the cardinal. 
With V. hom yourself, myself, and other lords. 



KING JOHN. 413 

If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
To c6nsiimmate this business happily. 

Faul. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince, 
With other princes that may best be spar'd, 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ; 
For so he wiil'd it. 

Faul. Thither shall it then. 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
I do bequeath my faithful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
To rest without a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks. 
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 

Faul. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
This England never did, (nor never shall,) 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these her princes are come home again, 
Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
And we shall shock them : Nought sha" make as ruo, 
If Englaiid to itself do rest but true. [ Sxeii^il 



KING HENRY IV 



The chmnicles of Hollingslied and Slowe, appear to have been the sonrcf» j'ronj 
which Shakspeare drew the materials for constructing liis series of English flistorica. 
Plays, adding, however, characters and incidents from his own teeming imagination, and 
heightening the real personages he introduces, with all the vivid touches of his excelling 
skill. 

In the first and second parts of Henry IV, appears that marvel of his creative genius, 
Falstaff,— who is aptly made the leader of the dissolute set of ])rofligates which surrounded 
the young Prince, afterwards Henry V. An isolated extract could not do justice to this 
inimitahle creation ; we have, therefore, preferred to confine our selections to the historical 
incidents of the Play. " The transactions contained in it are comprised within the period 
of about ten months. The action commences with the news brought of Hotspur having 
defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or Halidown-hill), 
which battle was fought on Holyroodday (the 14th of Sei)tember), 1402 ; and it closei 
with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrewsbury ; which engagement happened ol 
Saturday the 21st of July (the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen), in the year 1403." 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Pnnce o/ Wales, > ^ w rr- 

Prince John «/ Lancaster, I ^ons to the Kmg. 

Earl of Westmorland, } r ■ j . .i t^- 

Sir Walter Blunt, 5 f''^'"^' ^' *^' ^'"S- 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl o/ Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendower. 

Sir Richard Vernon. 

S.r John Falstaff. 

POINS. 

Gadshill. 

Peto. 

Bardolfh. 



KING HENRY IV. 415 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sistet to Mortimer. 

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimei 

Mrs. QuiCKLV, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 

hoiifs, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamherlain, Drawers, Two CarrierSt 
Travellers, and Attendants. 

SCENE,— England 



ACT I. 

King Heniy sends for Hotspur, to give r.r at» cant of his eonJuot at the Baltle oi 
lloimcJon. 

SCENE. — London, a Eyom in the Palace. 

£JnJ6) King Henry, NoRTHUMBEELy^NB, Worcester, IIoTsruR, Sir 
Walter Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. My blood hath be^:i too cold and temperate, 
Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
And you have found me ; for, accordingly, 
You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure, 
I will from henceforth rather be myself, 
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down. 
And therefore lost that title of respect, 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. 

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

North. My lord, — 

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger 
And disobedience in thine eye : 6, sir, 
iTour presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endtire 
The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 

[Exit Worcester, 
YoTi were about to speak. [ To North 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded. 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied, 
As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 



416 SHAKSPEAHIAN READER. 

But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
When I Vr'as dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
Show'd like a stubble-land at imrvest-home ; 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose, and took't away again ; 

Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 

Took it in snuff: — and still he smil'd and talk'd; 

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies b}'-, 

He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He question'd me ; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay. 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 

He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad, 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 

v~)f guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark i) 

And telUng me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 

And that it was great pity, so it was. 

That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 

So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns. 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 

And, I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation. 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord. 
Whatever Harry Percy then had said. 
To such a person, and in such a place, 
At such a time, with all the rest re-told, 
May reasonably die, and never rise 
To do hini wrong, or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. ' ' - 

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners ; 
But with proviso, and exception, — 



KING HENRY IV. 41" 

That we, at our own cliarofe, shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against the great magician, curs'd Glendower ; 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we buy treason ? and indent with fears, 
When they have lost and forfeited them.selves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend. 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penn} cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war; — To prove that l/rc, 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those woun^sL. 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
In single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they dn*"vJ* 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ;_ 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks. 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did bare and rotten policy 
Color her working witn such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
Receive so many, and all willingly : 
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost b^^lie hin^ 
He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone. 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer ; 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, 
We license your departure with your son . — 
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them : — I will after straight. 



419 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause awhile ; 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? 

'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Wanl mercy, if 1 do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, 
And shed my blood drop by drop i' the dust. 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad. 

[To WORCESTI 

Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone *? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim'd. 
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? 

North. He was ; I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was, when the unhappy king 
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 
From whence he, intercepted, did return 
To be depos'd, and, shortly, murdered. 

Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's Vvide niouiij 
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king; 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd 
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be. 
That you a world of curses undergo ; 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ?- 
O, pardon me, that I descend so low, 
To snow the Une, and tne predicament, 
Wherein you range under this subtle king.^ — 
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 



KING HENRY IV. 419 



Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
That men of your nohility and power, 
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent 1 
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honors, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the v/orld again : 
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt. 
Of this proud king ; who studies, day and night, 
To answer all the debt he owes to you. 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
Therefore, I say, 

Wo?'. Peace, cousin, say no moro 

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night ; — or sink or swim 'f 
Send danger frem the east unto the west, 
So honor cross it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple ; — O ! the blood more stirs, 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap 
To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac'd moon ; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pludc up d-owned honor by the locks ; 
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear 
Without corrival. all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 

Wor. lie apprehends a world of figures here, 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

Wor. Those same noble ScoiSt 
That are your prisoners, 

Hot. I'll keep them all ; 

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
I'll keep them, by this hand, 

Wor. You start away, 

19 



i'^b SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hoi. Nay, I will ; that's fiat :— 

He said, he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer 
But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer 1 
Nay, 

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

War. Hear you, 

Cousin ; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke ; 
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wa.es, 
But that I think his father loves him not. 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

Wor. Farewell, kinsman ] I will talk to you, 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient foo' 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; 
Tying thine Par to no tongue but thine own ? 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd wit-h roda. 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ? — 
A plague upon't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; 
His uncle York ; — where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true : 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 

This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 

Look, — when his infant fortune came to age, 

And, gejiile Harry Percy, — and, kind cousin, — 

O, the devil take such cozeners ! — Heaven forgive me !— 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ; 
Well stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i'faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisonertj. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons, 
Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd, 



KING HENRY IV. 421 

Will easily be gfrcnted. — You, my lord, — [To Northumb>.k:.ane 

Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, — 

Shall secretly into the bosom creep 

Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 

The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is't not ? 

War. True ; who bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop 
I speak not this in estimation. 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and set down ; 
And only stays but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well. 

North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot : — 
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — 
To join with Mortimer, ha ? 

iVor. And sf» they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head : 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt ; 
And think we think ourselves unsaUsfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us hom.e. 
And see already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 

Hot. He does, he does ; we'll be reveng'd on hira. 

Wor. Cousin, farewell ; — No further go in this 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) 
I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer ; 
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
(As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
Which now we hold with much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother, we shall thrive, I trust. 

Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short, 
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [E^reun*. 

Hotspur and Iiis coafederates meet in consukatioa, prepai^tory (o tl.e battle -jf 

3hrewsbury. 

ACT HI. 

SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's House. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower. 
Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 



i22 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — 

Will you sit down ? 

And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon't ! 
I have forgot the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
Owen Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth, 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shak'd like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done 

At the same season, if your motlier's cat had 
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 

Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, 
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremblo* 

Hot. O then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions. 

Which shake old beldame earth, and topple down 
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again, — that at my birth. 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary : ^ 
And all the courses of my life do show, 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, — 
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
And bring him out, that is but woman's son, 
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. — 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you ; 
F(.r I v/as train'd up in the English court : 



KING HENR- IV. 42J* 

Where, being but young, I framed to tlie harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of 't with all my heart : 
I had rather be a kitt/n and cry — mew, 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers • 
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make him mad 

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 

Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
But will they come, v/hen you do call for them ? 

Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
The dei-i!. 

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil. 
By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. — 

Mort. Come, come, 
No more of this unprofitable chat. 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head 
Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wyne, 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! 
How 'scapes he agues ? 

The following scene is admirably descriptive cf tha characters cf Henrj' IV atJ bt 
young Prince of Wales. 

SCENE II.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 
K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of Wales and I 
Must have some conference : But be near at hand, 
For we shall presently have need of you. — [Ex. Lords 

I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done. 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ; 
But thou dost, in thy passages of life. 
Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, 
To punish my mis-trcadings. Tell me else, 



424 SHAKSPEARIATI READER. 

Could such inordinate, and low desires, 

Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mecn attempta. 

Such barren pleasures, rude society. 

As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, 

Accompany the greatness of thy blood. 

And hold their level with thy princely heart ? 

P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse, 
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, — 
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

K. Hen. Heaven pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, Harrv', 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied ; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood ; 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
Prophetically does forethink thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
So common-hackney 'd in the eyes of men, 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company ; 
Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
And left me in repuleless banishment, 
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 
That men would tell their children. This is he ; 
Others would say, — Where 1 ichich is Bolinghrokef 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
And dress'd myself in such humility, 
That I did pluck allegiance from men's heartS; 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new ; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast ; 
And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 



KKs^G HENRY IV. 425 



With sha^Io^^'■ jesters, and rasli bavin wits, 

Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state ; 

Mingled his royalty with capering fools ; 

Had his great name profaned with their scorns: 

And gave his countenance, against his name, 

To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 

Of every beardless vain comparative : 

Grew a companion to the common streets, 

Enfeoff 'd himself to popularity : 

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 

They surfeited with honey ; and began 

To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a littlo 

More than a little is by much too much. 

So, when he had occasion to be seen, 

He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 

Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes, 

As, sick and blunted with community. 

Afford no extraordinary gaze. 

Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 

When it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 

But rather drowz'd and hung their eyelids down. 

Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 

As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou : 

For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, 

With vile participation ; not an eye 

But is a-weary of thy common sight. 

Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more ; 

Which now doth that I would not have it do, 

Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lonlj, 
Be more myself. 

K. Hen. For all the world. 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot. 
He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
Than tliou, the shadow of succession : 
For, of no right, nor color like to right. 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm ; 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, 
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
What never-dying nonor hath he got 
Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds. 



42fc! shakspeaeia:^ leader. 

Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms. 

Holds from all soldiers chief majority, 

And military title capital, 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ 1 

Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, 

This infant warrior in his enterprises 

Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once, 

Enlarg'd him, and made a friend of him, 

To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, 

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 

And what say you to this ? Percy, Northumberland 

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 

Capitulate against us, and are up. 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 

Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 

Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 

Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear, 

Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — 

To fight against me under Percy's pay, 

To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 

To show how much degenerate thou art ? 

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ; 
And Heaven forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
And, in the closing of some glorious day. 
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood. 
And stain my favors in a bloody mask, 
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it- 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
That tills same child of honor and renown, 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harr^*, chance to meet. 
For every honor sitting on his helm, 
Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account, 
That he shall render every glory up, 
Yea, even the slightest worship of liis time, 
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
This, in the name of Heaven, I promise heii? , 
The which if it be pleas'd I shall perform, 
[ do beseech your majesty, may salve 



KING HENRY IV. 421 



The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : 
If not, the end of Ufe cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in tliis : — 
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, hereiu. 



KING HENRY VIIJ 



Many of tlie incidents of this Play, and much of the dialogue, were taken Dy ShiiJcs 
peare from chronicles of Hollingshed and Stowe, who were themselves indebted to " Cav 
sndish's Life of Wolsey " for most of the particulars they gave of the Cardinal's history 

Shakspeare has depicted the character of the gentle and noble-hearted Katharine oi 
Arragon, with such felicitous skill, that the scenes in which she is introduced are con- 
lidered among the finest efforts of the Poet's genius. 

The haughty Wolsey, is also a powerfully drawn picture. Our selections are devo*'>d 
lo the display of these two master-pieces of historical dramatic composition. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

King Henrt the Eighth. 

Cardinal Wolsey. 

Cardinal Campeius. 

Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor ^ Charles V. 

Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke of Buckingham, 

Duke of Suffolk. 

Earl of Surrey. 

Lord Chamberlain. 

Lord Chancellor. 

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 

Bishop of Lincoln. 

Lord Abergavenny. 

Lord Sands. 

Sir Henry Guilford, 

Sir Thomas Lovell, 

Sir Anthony Denny. 

Sir Nicholas Vaux. 

Secretaries to Wolsey. 

Cromwell, servant to Wolsey, 

Griffith, Gentleman- Usher to Queen Kathariiw. 

Three other Gentlemen. 



KING HENRY VIII. 429 

Doctor Butts, physician to the King. 
Garter King at Arms. 
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 
Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. 
Doorkeeper of the Council-Chamber. 
Porter, and his man. 
Page to Gardiner. 
A Crier. 

Queen Katharine, wife to King Henry, aftejMsards divorced. 
Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honor, afterwards Queen. 
An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. 
Patience, looinan to Queen Katharine. 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending upon 
the Queen ; Spirits which appear to her ; Scribes, Officers, Guards^ 
and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — chiefly in London and Westminster, once at Kimbolton. 



ACT 1. 

dueen Katharine incurred the jealousy and hatred of Wolssy, by her oppositions 
his overbearing arrogance, and the exactions he was continually enforcing on the people. 

Shakspeare introduces the dueen, as a suitor to the King, on the sabject of these 
oppressions of the people. 

SCENE \l.—The Council- Chamher. 

Cornets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the 
Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, Officers, and Attendants. The 
Kjng enters, leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder. 

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it. 
Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
To you that chok'd it. 

The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council take their several 
places. The Cardinal places himself under the King's /ee/, on his 
right side, 

A noise within, crying. Room for the Queen ! Enter the Queen, 
ushered hy the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk : she kneels. The 
King rises from his State, takes her up, kisses, and places her hy 
him. 

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel ; I am a suitor. 

K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : — Half your suit 
Never name to us ; you have half our power ; 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
Repeat your will, and take it. 



430 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

Q. Kath. Thank your majesty, 

That you would love yourself; and. in that love, 
Not unconsider'd leave your honor, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of my petition. 

K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q, Kath. I am solicited, not by a few. 
And those of true condition, that your subjects 
Are in great grievance : there have been commissions 
Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart 
Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although. 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
(Whose honor heaven shield from soil !) even he escapes noi 
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks. 
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
In loud rebellion. 

Nor. Not almost appears, 

Ft doth appear : for upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them 'longingf, have put off 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger. 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, 
And Danger serves among them. 

K. Hen. Taxation ! 

Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal, 
Yovi that are blam'd for it alike with us, 
.Know you of this taxation ? 

^Vol. Please you, sir, 

I know but of a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No, my lord, 

You know no more than others : but you frame 
Things, that are known alike ; which are not w^holesonas 
To those which would not know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing ; and to bear them., 
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say, 
They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer 
Too hard an exclamation. 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it ? In jvhat kind, let's know, 
Is this exaction ? 

Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 



KING HENRY VIII. 431 

In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 

Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief 

Comes through commissions, which compel from each 

The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 

Without delay ; and the pretence for this 

Is nam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold mc'lhs : 

Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 

Allegiance in them ; their curses now. 

Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass. 

That tractable obedience is a slave 

To each incensed will. I would, your highness 

Would give it quick consideration, for 

There is no primer business. 

K. Hen. By my life. 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. " And for me, 

I have no further gone in this, than by 
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but 
By learned approbation of the judges. 
If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know 
My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
That virtue must go through. We must not stiii! 
Our necessary actions, in the fear 
To cope malicious censurers ; which ever, 
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further 
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, 
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
For our best act. If we shall stand still. 
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
State statues only. 

K. Hen. ' Things done well. 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear ; 
Things done without example, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
Of this comm.ission ? I believe, not any. 
We must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ) 
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take, 
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber, 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'c!^ 
The air will drink the sap. To every county, 
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 



4^*4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ; 
I put it to your care. 

WoL A word with you. [ To the Secretarv 

Let there be ietters writ to every shire, 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd common's 
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd, 
'/hat, through our intercession, this revokement 
And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
Further in the proceeding. 



ACT II. 

King Henry VIII. having determined to divorce Katharine, obtains a commission from 
Rome, to try the causes which have induced him to dissolve his marriage. The Pope 
sends Cardinal Campeius, who in conjunction with Wolsey are appointed to act as judgei 
at the Q,ueen's trial. 

SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. 
Court assembled for the Trial. 

IVol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
Let silence be commanded. 

K. Hen. What's the need ? 

It hath already publicly been read. 
And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
You may then spare that time. 

Wol Be't so :— Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the court. 

Crier. Henry king of England, come into court. 

K. Hen. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into court. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into court. 

[ Tlie Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the 
court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet ; then speaks. 

Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice ; 
And to bestow your pity on me : for 
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger. 
Born out of your dominions ; having here 
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir. 
In what have I offended you ? what cause 
Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, 
That thus you should proceed to put me off, 
And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
At all times to your will conformable : 
Ever in fear to kindle vour dislike, 



KING HENRY VIII. 

Yea, subject to your countenance ; glad, or sorry, 

As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 

I ever contradicted your desire, 

Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends . 

Have I not strove to love, although I knew 

He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine 

That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 

Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice 

He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind 

That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 

Upwards of twenty years. If, in the course 

And process of this time, you can report, 

And prove it too, against mine honor aught. 

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty. 

Against your sacred person, in God's name, 

Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 

Shut door upon me, and so give me up 

To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir 

The king, your father, was reputed for 

A prince most prudent, of an excellent 

And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 

My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one " 

The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 

A year before : It is not to be question'd 

That they had gather'd a wise council to them 

Of every realm, that did debate this business, 

Who deem'd our marriage lawful : Wherefore I huralu 

Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 

I will implore ; if not, i' the name of God, 

Your pleasure be fulfill'd ! 

WoL You have here, lady, 

(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers ; men 
Of singular integrity and learning. 
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
To plead your cause ; It shall be therefore bootleso, 
That longer you desire the court ; as well 
For your own quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well, and justly : Therefore, madamj 
It's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
And that, without delay, thei»* arguments 
Be now produc'd, and heard. 

Q. Kath, Lord cardinal,— 

To you I speak. 

Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 

Q. Kath. Sir, 

C am about to weep ; but, thinking that 



433 



4y4 SRAKSPEArJAr> READEK. 

We are a queeii. (or long have dreamM so,) certain, 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I'll turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble ; nay, before. 
Or Heaven will punish me. I do believe, 
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
You are mme enemy ; and make my challenge ; 
You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me. — 
Therefore, I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul. 
Refuse you for my judge : whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most maUcious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess, 

You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrurifl ; 
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice 
For you, or any : how far I have proceeded. 
Or how far further shall, is warranted 
By a commission from the consistory, 
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge m^. 
That I have blown this coal : I do deny it. 
The king is present : if it be known to him, 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound. 
And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much 
As you have done my truth. But if he know 
That I am free of your report, he knows, 
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
It lies, to cure me ; and the cure is, to 
Remove these thoughts from you ; the which before 
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, 
And to say no more. 

Q. Kath, My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak 

To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble-moutn'd J 
You sign your place and calhng, in full seeming 
With meekness and humility : but your hear* 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favors, 
Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers : and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
Vou tender more your person's honor, than 



KING HENRY YIII. 435 

l^our liigh profession spiritual : That again 

do refuse you for my judge ; and here. 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope, 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
And to be judg'd by him. 

[She curi''sies to the King, and offers to depart. 

Cam. The queen is obstinate, 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be try'd by it ; 'tis not well. 
She's going away. 

J{. Hen. Call her again. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the court. 

Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 

Q. Kath. What need you note it ? pray you, keep your way 
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help. 
They vex me past my patience ! — pray you, pass on : 
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more. 
Upon this business, my appearance make 

In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen, Griffith. 

and her other Attendants 

K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : 

That man i'the world, who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted. 
For speaking false in that : Thou art alone, 
(If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, — 
Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Ca'-riod herself towards me. 

ACT III. 

Qneen Katharine is divorced, and Henry marries Anne Bullen. The power of Woissj 
over the King gradually declines, and the nobles of the Court plot against him. The lords 
of Suftblk and Norfolk are particularly Iiis enemies ; and learning that Wolsey has by 
accident given several documents to the King, containing private memorandums of his 
intrigues, and statements of liis vast wealth, they are waiting to learn the effect of this 
disclosure. 

Wolsey and Crojiwell, Suffolk and Norfolk. 

Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. 

Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king ? 

Crom. To his ow^n hand, in his bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper '/ 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them : and tlie first he view'd, 
He di(? it with a serious mind ; a heed 



400 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADSH. 

Was in liis countenance ! You, he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

To come abroad ? 

Crom. I think, by this lie is. 

Wol. Leave me a while, — 
It shall be to the duchess of Alen9on, 
The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — 
Anne Bullen ! No ; Til no Anne Bullens for him, 
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
No, we'll no Bullens, — Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pembroke ! 

Nor. He's discontented. 

Suf. May be, he hears the king 

Does whet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough, 

Lord, for thy justice ! 

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman : a knight's daugrlitor. 
To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — 
This candle burns not clear ; 'tis I must snuff it ; 
Then, out it goes. — What though I know her virtuouo, 
Vnd well deserving ? yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholesome to 
Our cause. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favor of the king, 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Suf. I would, 'twere something that would fret the string 
The master-cord of his heart ! 

Enter the King, reading' a schedule; and Lovell. 

Suf. The king, the king. 

K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated 
To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift 
Does he rake this together ! — Now, my lords ; 
Saw you the cardinal ? 

Nor. j\Iy lord, we have 

Stood here observing him : Some strange commotion 
Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts ; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight, 
Springs out into fast gait ; then, stops again, 
Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts 
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
We have seen him set himself. 

K. Hen. It may well be ; 

There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 



KING HENRY VIII. 437 

Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
As I requir'd ; And, wot you, what I found 
There ; on my conscience, put unwittingly ? 
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
Posession of a subject. 

Nor. It's Heaven's will ; 

Some spint put this paper in the packet 
To bless your eye withal. 

K. Hen. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth, 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings : but, I am afraid. 
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[He takes his seat, and whispers Lovell, who goes to Wolseb 

Wol. Heaven forgive me ! 

Ever Heaven bless your highness ! 

K. Hen. Good my lord. 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory 
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
To keep your earthly audit : Sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband : and am glad 
To have you therein my companion. 

Wol. Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
To think upon the part of business, which 
I bear i' the stale ; and nature does require 
Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
Must give my tendance to. 

K. Hen. You have said well. 

Wol. And ever may your highness yoke togethei 
As I will lend you cause, my doing w-ell 
With my well-saying. 

K. Hen. 'Tis well said again ; 

And 'tit a kind of good deed, to say well : 
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
Emplo}r'd you where high profits might come home, 
But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol, What should this mean ? 



•138 SHAKSIEARIAN -lEADER. 

A". Hen. Have I not made . cu 

The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me, 
If what I now pronounce, you liave found true : 
And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 

Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal grace's, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
My studied purposes requite ; which went 
Beyond all man's endeavors : — my endeavors 
Have ever come too short of my desires, 
Yet, fill'd with my abilities : Mine own ends 
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person, and 
The profit of the state. For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty, 
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

K. Hen. Fairly answer'd ; 

x\ loyal and obedient subject is 
Therein illustrated ; the honor of it 
Does pay the act of it ; as i' the contrary. 
The foulness is the punishment. I presume 
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honor moiV 
On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart, 
Your brain, and every function of your power, 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess, 

That for your highness' good I ever labor'd 
More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be. 
Though all the world should crack their duty tc you, 
And throw it from their soul ; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty, 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken yours. 

K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast. 
For you have seen him open 't. — Read o'er this ; 

[Giving him fnipt^s 
And, after, this : and then to breakfast, Vv'ith 
What appetite you have. 

[Exit Kma, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsf.y; llit 
Nobles throng after him smiling^ and ichispering. 



KING HENRY Vlli; 4JJ9 

Wol. What should this mean ? 

What sudden anger's this ; how have I reap'd it ? 
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
LeapM from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
!Jpon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
riien'makes him nothing. I must read this paper ; 
I fear, the story of his anger, — 'Tis so ; 
This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, 
Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure this ? 
No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Pops? 
The letter, as I live, with all the business 
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farev/ell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness : 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening. 
And no man see me more. 

Re-enter the Dukes of Nokfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surkkv, 
and the Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who commands you 
To render up the great seal presently 
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, 
Till you hear further from his highness. 

Wol 
Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Suf, Who dare cross them. 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? 

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
(I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, 
[ dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy. 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, 
As^if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
Ye' appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doub.. 
In time will find their fit revv^ards. That seal, 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 



440 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 

(Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me. 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honors, 
During my life, and, to confirm his goodness. 
Tied it by' letters patent: New, who'll take it? 

Sur. The king that gave it. 

WoL It must be himself thai;. 

Sur~ Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

WoL Proud lord, thou liest ; 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 

Sur. My lords, 

Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
And dare us with his cap, like larks. 

WoL All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion. 

WoL How much, methinks, I could despise this lUAii, 
But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, — 
Because all those things, you have done of late 
By your power legatine within this kingdom, 
Fall into the compass of a 'prccmunire^ — 
That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge. 

Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
About the giving back the great seal to us. 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. 
So fare you well, my httle good lord cardinal. 

[Exeunt all hut \\\ lsev 

WoL So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; To-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, — nip's his root. 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my deptii : my high-blowii or'wlft 



KING HENRY VIII. 441 

At length broke under me ; and now has left me» 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched 
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Nov3r to hope again, — 

Enter Cromwell, amwedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell ? 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol. What, amaz'd 

At my misfortunes ? can thy sj irit w^onder, 
A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, 
I am fallen indeed, 

Crom. How does your grace ? 

WoL Why wcU: 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
[ know myself now ; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, 
[ humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders. 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, — too much honor : 
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of It 

Wol. I hope, I have : I am able now, metiiinks, 
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 
Vo endure more miseries, and greater far. 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad ? 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst, 

[s your displeasure with the khig. 

Wol. God bless him ' 

Crom. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That's somewhat sudden : 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
What more ? 



442 SHAKSPEARIAN .DEADER. 

Crum. That Cranmeris retarn'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That's news, indeed. 

Cram. Last, that the lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was view'd in open, as his queen. 
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. Cror^iwell 
The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost for ever. 
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors. 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwel' ; 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 
What, and how true thou art : ne will advance thee j 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 
(I know his noble nature,) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord, 

Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron. 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord — 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ; 
Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the deptlis and shoals of honor, — 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee : 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silence env1ou<^ tongues, Be just, and fear not: 



KING HENRY VIII. 443 

Let all the ends, ilioii aim'st at, be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 

And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in : 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 

I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. Farev;ell 

The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do well. [Exeunl. 

The following Scene vei^ beautifully details the last incidents of Wohey life — and 
exhibits the divorced Q,ueen, in her closing moments, a pattern of virtuous resignatiou 

ACT IV. 

SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 
Enter Katfarine, Dowager, sick ; led between Griffith and P^.- 

TIENCE. 

Gi'if. How does your grace ? 

Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death : 

My limbs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
Willing to leave their burden : Reach a chair ; 
So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
That the great child of honor, cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead ? 

Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace 

Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. 

Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell mc how ho died 
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
For my example. 

Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 

For after the stout earl Northumberland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alas, poor man ! 

Gi-if. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester 
Tjodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
With all his convent, honorably receiv'd him ; 
To whom he gave these words,— O/a^/ier abbots 
471 old marx broken with the st ms of state, 
20 



444 SHAKSPrlARIAN KEADEX. 

Is come to lay his iceary hones among ye ; 

Give him a liule earth for charity ! 

So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness 

Pursu'd him still ; and, three nights after this, 

About the hour of eight, (which he hinriself 

Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, 

Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 

He gave his honors to the world again, 

Kis blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him, 
And thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak of hiiiu 
And yet with charity, — He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
Ty'd all the kingdom : simony Vv-as fair play ; 
His own opinion was his law. I' the presence 
He would say untruths ; and be ever double. 
Both in his words and meaning : He was never, 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble madam, 

Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your higlmeas 
To hear me speak his good now ? 

Kath. Yes, good Griffith ! 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion'd to much honor. From his cradle, 
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; 
Kxceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : 
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summSTi 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
(Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, madam, 
He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with liii '^ 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found. the blessedness of being little : 



KING HENRY VIll. 4 ^'i 

And, to add greater lienors to his age 
Than man could give him, he died tearing God. 
Kalh. After my death I wish no other herald, 
No other speaker of my hving actions, 
To keep mine honor from corruption, 
But such an honest chronicler as Griifith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made m.e, 
With thy religious trutli, and modesty, 
Now in his ashes honor : Peace be with him ! — 
Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
1 have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

Sad and solemn nnisic. 

Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, 
For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 

Kath. (Wakes.) Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are yi; all 
gone ? 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 

Grif. Madam, we are here. 

Kath. It is not you I call for : 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 

Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No ? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy 

Kath. Bid the music leave. 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music cea^di 

Pat. Do you note, 

How much her grace is alter'd on a sudden , 
How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks, 
And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes ? 

Grf. She is going ; pray, pray. 

Pat. Heaven comfort her! 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. An't like your grace, — 

Kath. You are a saucy fellow- 

iJcserve we no more rcverrnce ? 

Grif. You are to blame 



446 SHAKSPEAKiAN READER. 

Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness 
To use lo rude behavior : go to, kneel. 

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : But this fellow 
Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Griffith cf- MessiMifrcr. 

Re-enter Griffith, with Cafucius. 

You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
Kath. O, my lord, 

Tlie times, and titles, now are altered strangely 
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
What is your pleasure with me ? 

Cap. Noble lady, 

First mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
The king's request that I would visit you ; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations, 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too latt ; 
'Tis hke a pardon after execution : 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me •, 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness ? 

Cap. Madam, in good health, 

Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? 

Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Ka tuabikb. 

Kath. Sir, I most humbi> pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 

Cap. Most willingly, madam. 

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! — 
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ; 
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him. 
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long, 
Have folio w'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
•"And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, 



KING HENRf VIII. 447 

For virtue, and true beauty of the soul, 

For honesty, and decent carriage, 

A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 

And, sure, those men are happy that shall have tlioni. 

The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest, 

But poverty could never draw them from me ; — 

That they may have their wages duly paid them, 

And something over to remember me by ; 

If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, 

And able means, we had not parted thus. 

These are the whole contents : And, good my lord, 

By that you love the dearest in this world, 

As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, 

Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 

To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will ; 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
Tn all humility unto his highness : 
Say, his long trouble now is passing 
Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him, 
For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench, 
Let me be us'd with honor ; strew me over 
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
{ was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me. 
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I Ciui no more. \Excunl, 'leading K^TiiARiSB 



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